Letters Unsent
by Knichols12
Summary: I regret my past and all of its horrors, yet dread the future the most. My time in the Navy is ending: I must decide what's next. These unsent letters are a record for you, Gil. I want there to be answers for you to find when you return, just in case I'm not here. An illegal weapons trade wreaks havoc in town. His mother's memory still fades. Dietfried's heart is burdened.
1. Chapter 1

_**Letters Unsent**_

 _Yo, Gil!_

 _Do you remember that day that I gave Violet over to your care? We were in Leidenschaftlich, and you had just been promoted to Major. I told you then that she was a gift to you: a tool to use only for military purposes. You looked at me with horror, then. I know you think I was the one who taught her to kill, made her a tool, and threw her into the arms of the army, who abused her._

 _I found her on an island in the Northwestern war zone, all alone. She didn't talk, or seem to understand anything except the command to kill. My men were planning something terrible, and she slaughtered them right before my eyes, then followed me around like a puppy. I admit… my mind was not whole after witnessing so much bloodshed, so fast, when my guard was down._

 _I tested her willingness to kill. I reported her existence, her orphan status, and her accomplishments to my superiors. How else could I have explained the loss of my entire squadron?_

 _It never occurred to me to lie._

 _They met her. And I began to realize the horrors they had planned for her. Although I had put the train on these tracks, I could control some of where it was headed. Yet, every time I saw her face, I was thrown back into that moment of helplessness, where my men fell rapidly in a wash of blood. The rage, the horror, and pain of my peoples' demise…. She incited within me the same swirling tornado of emotion as that moment each and every time I looked into the blue ocean of her eyes._

 _I didn't have the strength to take her out of the hole forming underneath her feet._

 _So, I turned to you. You always took the negativity, the harsh undertones, and the distaste of Father's 'discipline' and used it as fuel for your ambitions, whereas it embittered and damaged me. You were the best hands for me to place her into. I convinced them that you would be the best handler for their new tool: that you were more than competent, and that you would win us this war with her aid._

 _It haunts me now, that I involved you at all. I feels like I brought death to your feet…._

 _Do you remember? We spoke briefly of Father that day. You looked so much like him: depressed, short hair, and the start of sleepless bags under your eyes. You joked that Father would cut off my hair with a saber if he'd seen it at such a length. I told you I was glad he had died. You looked at me with that soft astonishment you and mother could always pull off so well._

 _You never asked me why I was glad he was gone. Did you assume I was just an ungrateful child? Or jesting with poor taste? Maybe you hoped that was a statement from a bitterly grieving son, and that I didn't mean it. Do you have any memories of me without my shirt on during our childhood? Do you know what my bare back looks like? Likely not: I was careful for you to not see it. There are scars on my back from the Father you never met: a Father I promised to kill if he ever dared to hurt you the way he'd attacked me._

 _I was a protective brother, even when you were first born. You and mother were the only family I truly treasured… the only family I truly felt comfortable around. I am so glad that I had the opportunity to watch over you. I am glad you were born my brother._

 _I despise that I was the brother who returned. You once told me that you saw me as the popular one, but I'm the brother everyone's disappointed to see: they all turn their heads in hopeful expectation of you when they hear the surviving Bougainvillea brother approaches. I'd give - **anything** \- for their wishes to be granted. _

_Dietfried_


	2. Chapter 2

_Gilbert,_

 _I had to fight for her freedom._

 _When they announced your death, and her recovery from injuries received at Intense, they began to make the next plans for her in the army. Claudia told me he was going to pick her up, that you had wished for him to look after her. The House of Commons felt that, even though a good soldier had fallen, that the tool should still be useful in the battles ahead. They wanted me to become her handler again, and work to clean up any other messes that should arise from the ending of the war._

 _The thought sickened me, but it seemed that no objection that I brought forth bore any fruit. They side-stepped my logic and created straw man fallacies to discredit my every argument. Desperate, I had little choice but to offer them something more. I told them I planned to retire after the war. This proclamation caught their attention long enough for me to make my move. I promised them four more of my years, but only if they left her to rust as a civilian._

 _They agreed. I am the last Bougainvillea: they needed me, they thought. Our family's ancient reputation once annoyed me: I had wanted to make a name for myself, and succeeded. It was why I chose the Navy, rather than the Army as was expected for our line. This was the first time I'd intentionally utilized our margrave to my advantage, but it was for your sake._

 _It was worth the sacrifice, to ensure you dying wish was protected._

 _Dietfried_


	3. Chapter 3

_Gil,_

 _Your little flower nearly wilted away when she learned you were gone._

 _I used to think the name you'd given her was a waste: that it didn't suit her at all. Now, I understand the sentiment you had behind that particular name. You began a war against her labeling immediately after your procurement of her, and that gentle name was one of the first and hardest blows you managed to deal to the struggle._

 _My superiors and I: we had her labeled as a tool. They first used the term in place of a name for her, and I allowed it. I allowed them to strip her humanity away, fell into the very deception I had crafted to allow her into your care. But she feels. Just like you and I. Her face is not very expressive in general, contributing to her Doll-like appearance. Yet, her soul… it is flooded with the turmoil of emotions expected of a war-scared, blood-stained soldier who lost her beloved in the fray. I see now that should she be so moved by her feelings that her features have no choice but to contort to shine forth the power of it, then you can be sure the strength of those emotions would've blown a less sturdy person to bits._

 _I guess I can see why you like her._

 _She found me and demanded the truth. I opened my mouth to tell her you were dead, but I couldn't force the words past my lips. I tried to fault her for rejecting the same cruel reality that I did. Just as before, I began to test her. This time, I tried her humanity with all of my might._

 _Gil, you had a way of such gentle instruction, shining light on her humanity by cultivating emotions and expression from her even as you responded in kind. The only way I knew to evoke response was through great waves of turbulence._

 _Her response shook me to my core._

 _D_


	4. Chapter 4

_Gilbert,_

 _The Navy is the same as the Military, in that we received training to ensure we move when trouble finds us. Like the police, we run toward the dangerous situation rather than away. A soldier moves when commanded. A leader… a leader must be the fastest: he must analyze the situation, determine the best course of action within seconds, and shout the command without hesitation._

 _Even so… on the train to Gardarik, I froze._

 _I hope you'll forgive my sloppy scribbles. My hands shake, even now, recalling the reckless abandon of your little flower._

 _The solder, Isidor, had climbed to the top of the train behind her, his gun trained on her back for the kill. I did not even think: I dove in front of her, weapon raising to meet the enemy, and in a flash of gunpowder, his life was forfeit. But his final act was to pull the trigger, and I fully expected -even wanted- that bullet to hit home, and put me out of my misery…._

 _But she stepped in between me and the barrel of my final rest. I heard the bullet burst from its chamber, and I knew, my brother, that I had failed you miserably. Your sacrifice had been in vain. She was going to die, protecting your wretched brother. I stared in numb wonder as the bullet ricochet off her metal arms with a metallic zing and caused a light fixture to explode a small distance away. She stood before me, alive._

 _The remainder of that train ride, I was emotion embodied. Rage and disbelief as she charged out from the box car to dislodge the bomb. Worry as she destroyed her arm in the process. Terror as she began to fall, and I stood frozen within the train. I tell myself I would have never made it there in time, but it haunts me that I stood still while Benedict snatched her back up into safety._

 _I would have never guessed that by testing the humanity of a war Doll, I could rediscover some of my own._

 _D_


	5. Chapter 5

_Violet Evergarden,_

 _Bless whatever hand of fate that put you on the train to Gardarik. The mission was only a success because you were on it. I am sorry...for everything. Your eyes reflected only what you saw in me, and I hated it. All along, I was the tool of the military that cost you so much…. I hope you can forgive me, in time._

 _I heard you, on that train. It was the first time the echos of the past didn't deafen me to your truth. Our essence vibrated with the same ricochet of violence seen, blood shed, grief, love, love lost…. The same determination to protect what humanity we have left in our hearts. The desire to be something more than the tools we'd been._

 _Thank you for protecting Gil._

 _Thank you for being kind to our mother… and to me. You never held my grief against me. You refused to respond to the raging pain that I showered on you. I should have done better by you: you deserve that much. I will not abandon you again. Gilbert took you into this family, and since he is not around to ensure your care himself, I shall see to you personally. Should you need me, you only need to say so._

 _In the event of my death, please know that my lawyer will be in contact with you as the sole inheritor of the Bougainvillea estates and fortune. I make only one request of you: that you look after Gil's grave._

 _Dietfried_


	6. Chapter 6

_Gil,_

 _I introduced Violet to Mother today._

 _Mother's memory has been… fuzzy lately. I have had to explain your death to her many times over. Still, she could think clearly enough to request to meet Violet. I hadn't thought she truly understood me when I told her about the girl, but she'd known what name you'd given her. I wish you could've seen the way she looked out over the crowd when I went to pick her up from CH Postal…. She seemed to have been expecting you. They must have given her my last name only. She'd been a blur of blue flying down the stairs, and a hopeful expression on her face as she eagerly searched the room. I called out to her, and her blank mask fell too late: I'd seen the grievous disappointment there in her eyes._

 _Mother said 'It's not your fault. You don't have to live with that burden.'_

 _Through the stories I'd told her, she managed to hear the words that I hadn't been able to say to Violet directly, and gave them like a gift. I cannot describe the gratitude and love for our mother that overwhelmed me then. I had to step down the hallway to compose myself as they finished speaking. I could hear Violet softly sobbing as Mother spoke so gently to her._

 _Violet has found a reason to live. One that's worth overcoming her past an d learning to continue with the weight of death behind her. She has chosen not to kill anymore, and I will honor these wishes. I will try to ensure they don't get her killed either. I cannot help but feel left behind, now. I think I'm more broken at this point than she is, and I have little hope that my situation will improve._

 _D_


	7. Chapter 7

_Gilbert,_

 _My brother, I regret my past and all of its horrors, just as Violet does. Yet… I dread the future the most. The time nears: my final four years in the Navy are drawing to a close. With them, I must decide what is next._

 _These unsent letters: they're a record for you , Gil. I have yet to give up on the idea that you live.. so I want there to be answers for you to find when you return._

 _I have held on to this hope for a long time, but I'm beginning to lay that to rest with you, my beloved brother. Waiting up at night for you to return home has been the only thing I've had to look forward to these four years you've been MIA. I may decide that I've waited long enough: the thought has certainly crossed my mind more than once. Especially lately. It's the anniversary of Intense tomorrow, which is the official celebration for the war's end. I might just eat my gun, and give myself some peace…._

 _I love you, Gil. Always._

 _Dietfried_


	8. Chapter 8

Claudia looked at him in shock. The open-mouthed kind of astonishment that didn't occur much with a retired Lieutenant Colonel. "Say that again."

Dietfried ground his teeth, his hands balling into fists as he gathered his will power, gaze focused on the desk before him at the CH Postal Company. "Soon, I am to meet with my superior officers… to resign from my post."

"Why?," Claudia asked, gaping. "You thought that leaving the army after the war was disgraceful! Now, here you are, ready to retire. What made you change your mind?"

Dietfried was silent so long that Claudia began to believe that he would not reply. Then, he answered, his frustration escaping him like smoke from a valve. "I have accepted it…. No matter where I go for the Navy, no matter what lands I see or battles I fight, Gilbert isn't coming back."

Diethard focused on him, his sharp, chartreuse eyes challenging Claudia to comment. "And I have shirked my duties as the Head of Household long enough. My mother needs someone to ensure her quality of life is satisfactory for the remainder of her time. Someone needs to see after the two Bougainvillea estates and our various businesses. And although you have done a wonderful job, you shouldn't be the only man looking after Gilbert's widow."

Claudia couldn't hide the flinch and widening of his eyes at the label Dietfried had inserted for Violet. Another silence stretched between them before Diethard sighed and stepped back. "Anyway…. I just thought you should know." he proclaimed, twisting to march promptly out of Claudia's door.

Claudia didn't need to know that Dietfried had been envious of his imminent retirement after the war was over. He might have duplicated the effort had his services not been required to keep Violet out of the attention of the upper brass. He also didn't need to know about the dread that settled deep within Dietfried's stomach when he thought about what he would _do_ after his time with the Navy was over. Those were troubles for another day.

Or never. Never sounded good too.

…...

"Currently, there's an estimated 12 million guns wrapped up in illicit arms trafficking in Liden alone. However, the vast majority have been ransacked from a variety of manufacturing firms by a gang of anti-peace rioters. They seem to mostly trade sub-machine guns, assault rifles, light machine guns, and some explosives."

The general pointed to their last known location on the map, and Dietfried followed where his finger prodded into the map. "That doesn't sound like terrorism operations to me: this is small time. Why are you involving the navy, when this could easily be a police matter?" He turned suspicious eyes to the general, weighing his dedication. The general foundered a moment, then cleared his throat.

"The police have been involved, mostly without progress. They believe the brigands are utilizing the multiple ports in our area to transport the weapons. They have a limited jurisdiction on the open waters, as you are aware. The House feels that you are the most appropriate response to this issue."

Dietfried sighed. One more week, and he had planned to put in his resignation. Somehow, this project tasted long-term, and he knew just the representative that had likely foreseen his departure in advance enough to put a little excitement into his duties. "Let me be clear: I will assist in this matter, but I have no intention of seeing it through to the full elimination of the contraband. After the conflict surrounding our ports has been seen to, I will assume the police will provide the services which our people pay them for, yes?" He did not wait for a response from the flushed man. He merely strode from the room, his long braid bouncing with his irritation.

As he headed for the exit, someone else called over the crowd of people milling about the halls. "Hey, Dietfried! Leaving so soon? You should join us for a drink after work!"

"Sorry: I've got errands to run." He waved over his shoulder, barely cutting his eyes to the side to see who had invited him. "I'll catch you next time, Griff!" His stride was wide, and he made little time across the room and out of the front door. The sunshine blinded him momentarily compared to the dim rooms behind him, and he took a deep breath of the billowing breeze as his eyes adjusted. The street was lined with people as well, and he found himself frustrated as he danced the familiar bob-and-weave required to make it through the throngs at his preferred pace.

His first destination was a relatively modest home at the end of a grouping of townhouses. He knocked on the door, hearing a woman on the other side scolding one of the children, another child screaming at a sibling, the tinkering of pots and pans…. Dietfried couldn't hide his amusement as his entrance and greeting went unheard beneath the chaos of the home. This was one of his most favorite stops…. The family was genuine, sincere, and so full of life. He dodged a flying paper aircraft, waved to the oldest girl in the corner and greeted her by name, stepped over stopped miniature trucks and cars, and made his way into the kitchen past the two arguing siblings.

It was here that their mother, Elvire, stood on a stool to reach some obscure cooking material from the upper shelves. She shouted over her shoulder scolding her shouting children. Fed up when they did not respond, she twirled too fast around, her face flushed. "If I have to tell you kids one more time -!" She ended her threat with a sharp gasp as her stool teetered, and her balance was thrown off. She threw her arms out as she fell, seeking stability from a counter too far behind her for her to grasp. Then Diefried was there, steadying the stool with a quick movement of his leg, his arms reaching out to grasp her waist and stopped her fall before it had hardly began. The chaos of the kids behind them continued, ignorant of the very near accident of their mother.

His efforts earned him a bright smile, and she gave a relieved, breathy laugh. "Oh, Dietfried, you have quite good timing." She smoothed back the fallen wisps of her auburn hair back toward her haphazard bun. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes. It had to be hard to be a single mother of five…. He looked up at the open cabinet above, then pointed for emphasis. "Could I get something for you up there…?" He helped her around the house a bit after this, played some with the children outside to give their mother a moment's peace, then cleaned up some afterward. Just as she was finishing dinner preparations, he pulled out his usual gift for her: a bag containing enough money to cover their living expenses for the upcoming month.

Her green eyes always misted over when she saw the familiar parcel, and she would look at him with an exasperated smile. "You know, you don't have to do this every month, Dietfried…. We'll manage somehow," she says as he places it in her palm with a gentle insistence. He just nods, but doesn't comment on her objection. She always says that.

"There's a bit extra in there this time…. I know there are a couple of birthdays coming up…."

She covered her mouth in surprise, then she sniffs. "Won't you join us for dinner, at least?"

"I've got other stops to make tonight," he says, then waves and walks quietly off the porch. The kids shout good night at him as he goes. There are many reasons that they are his favorite stop.

There were a few other places he paused briefly at, but his next big stop was for Madame Gilford. She had aged gracefully, and retained her graceful posture, but rheumatoid arthritis had taken its toll on her. As a result, she struggled to move around much. Diethard always did her grocery shopping for her, so he didn't even have to ask what she needed. He'd memorized the list she always provided: she never added one single item. He had his arms full of brown grocery bags as he knocked on her elegant front door. Her help always opened the door: an aging butler who was balding at the top, but had a pleasant face and polite smile. Dietfried nodded at him, and stepped through the entry way to put the items down in the kitchen. He and the butler had them put away promptly.

"Is that my young gentleman in there?," Madame Gilford called from the sitting area where she took her evening decaf latte. Dietfried rounded the corner and she opened her arms wide, smiling and happy to see him. "That time of the month again? Thank you, dear…." He embraced her, careful to not to hurt her aching bones. They exchanged some small talk, and he gave her news about the area and from nearby nations. She invited him to drink with her, since she always followed her latte with a sophisticated whiskey on the rocks, but he politely declined and bid her a good evening.

It was the final stop of the night that he dreaded.

This house held the most sorrow. The loss here was most fresh, and made harder by the lack of acceptance from its resident…. The resulting hostility was always expected, but never something Dietfried looked forward to, no matter how much he deserved it. His heart was heavy with both the dread that normally came, and also the thoughts of the soldier who left this one a widower. She had been an amazing asset to the Navy. No one could withstand her rapier. She fought with ferocity, her mind always whirling with arcane subjects that brought light to her eyes, and she had a biting wit that was outclassed by nothing and no one. Dietfried had admired her, and had fought with her at his back many times. She had been affectionately called "Zilly", but her full name fit the powerhouse personality: Zillipheradora Von Weber….

He'd been there, when that powerhouse had fallen. She took one hundred and fifty enemy soldiers with her, when she took her ship -and herself- to destruction. It had been an amazingly heroic blaze of glory for her, but in the ashes left behind was her devastated lover. He could _feel_ those blazing golden eyes on him as he approached the yard, and knew they'd be framed by cold silver locks, chopped short in a face shaped like an almond, with a sharp chin and broad forehead. He always tucked the money into the mailbox before he decided to meet that gaze, and was never disappointed by the hostility he'd expect to find there.

"I thought I told you not to bring your dirty money around here anymore," she snapped. She always met him with this stance: legs parted shoulder-width apart, arms folded over her breasts, shoulders and jaw set with stubbornness. The last rays of the sunset began to fade away, leaving her bathed in the first shadows of the oncoming night.

"Good evening, Leela," he said, watching her cautiously. He never knew how much of a fight he'd be in for…. "I told you that it was up to you if you took it, or left it for the mailman to steal. I also told you I'd put it in your mailbox so that you wouldn't have to see my face if you didn't want to…. You must want to, though," he teased, pleased when her whole body tensed with the force of her reaction, "since you always meet me out here." She spluttered her outrage, and he couldn't help but smile a bit. She was so easy to mess with. However, this time she surprised him by flushing, then charging close to the white picket fence that surrounded her yard. The fence was only about waist high, so she was able to slam her hands onto it and lean over to menace him.

"Money doesn't replace her!," she shouted, and Dietfried was sad to see tears fall, despite obvious resistance, down her face. "Why do you insist on coming? I've told you that you were not welcome here! You didn't protect my Zilly! You don't deserve to stand here looking all smug while she rots in a watery grave!" She closed her eyes and curled her hands into fists, tears falling freely now. "You couldn't even bring her body back for me to bury…."

Dietfried looked at the ground, guilt eating at his soul. "You're right. I would swap places with her in a heartbeat. Her, or my brother Gilbert. They're both gone, and neither of them even get the burial that they deserve." He raised his eyes up to meet hers, which were wide and surprised at his sympathy. Normally he just listened, then walked away. But this time, he felt she was ready to hear him, as if she needed someone who truly understood her situation, her loneliness. They peered silently at one another a moment, then Dietfried's will broke under the weight of those piercing golden eyes, and he looked away. "When people hear about the Bougainvillea family, and they hear one brother survived, it's never me they expect to darken their doors. They're all hopefully anticipating Gilbert, and find me disappointing. Hell, _I_ find it disappointing. Still, I'm here. And I'm trying to do something about that. The best thing you can do? Live. Live so that Zilly will smile at you.

"...It's been four years, Leela. As long as you look to your past for your satisfaction, it will always taste of ashen disappointment. Of a life that slipped through your fingers. Rather than let it destroy you, use your past as your stepping stone on to a brighter, better future. You are not sentenced to this pitiful life as a shade: you don't have to accept this half-life, but you have to choose not to stay here to get anywhere else." She stared silently at him in reply, mouth softly gaping. "You are still lovable. Even if you are a big pain." He gave a half-lidded smile in mimicry of Zilly's famous lopsided, smoldering tease face as he pitched a line the soldier had used constantly for her beloved back home. Leela said nothing, just gaped at him. He waved, and walked away feeling the lightest he ever had after talking with the widow. He just knew she silently went to the mailbox behind him and took the money. It would be wasteful to just let it be stolen, after all.

It was a happy victory for him.


	9. Chapter 9

Unusual, how the hand of fate reaches into your life: sometimes it's there to grip you by the balls, sometimes to present you with an apology gift, and other times it's some strange combination of both. This particular gift was the soft carry of a one-sided conversation across the wind to Dietfried's ears as he walked across the manufacturing district. He'd been investigating the illegal weapons trade for weeks now with little success, but two drunk guys staggering back to whatever filth-hovel they called home revealed just the nudge he needed in the right direction.

"An' I can' even. . . *hic*. . . get 'im to _try_ the newest stuff: it's a . . . a heavy duty machine gun. It ws **made** to be used!" The other guy gave an unfriendly grunt at this, uninterested in what that one was saying. His companion obviously talked a lot, and all he wanted was to get home. "Anyway….," the first continued when the other refused to comment, "I think it'd be… 'd be a fun time, ya know…? Trying out tha n-new stuffs on tha employees before we leave. They'll jus' talk to tha cops and then we'll be busted! All 's gonna take 's a BOOM, an' then lights out for thems guys!"

The conversation did not increase intellectually after this point, as if he became drunker and his words more slurred as they went along. Just how much did this guy put away…? Dietfried was still grateful for it as the fellow let slip the facility's name, undoubtedly the latest conquest of the brigand band. With a new target in mind, Dietfried reported the discovery briefly to the House representatives, his intentions to delve further into the lead, and then began the long, _long_ process of recon.

He spent many days getting a layout of the building, quietly gaining access to the blueprints, and learning how the crew was dispersed across various areas of the facility. He learned which crew factions didn't speak to one another, what each crew type typically wore, general attitudes of people who did this type of work, their rhetoric and speech patterns. After this, he tied his hair back in a high-sitting man-bun, slipped into some cover-alls that he'd dragged across dirt and soot - careful to wear it with one strap unclasped, put on some round spectacles that held no prescription in the lenses, and went to work.

No one seemed to realize he was new. He milled about according to their routines: working diligently, participating in their break times, and relaxing where they all hung out. In doing this, he discovered where they held the completed weapons, where they had the old factory employees forcibly working, and had some clues on who the head honcho was. When forced, he would make idle conversation but mostly kept to himself. This allowed him to overhear many helpful conversations, and lent to his portrayed image of ignorance. Yep, just a good ol' boy wanting to make a buck….

He reported his progress to the same general who'd dumped this particular headache on him, and requested to take in one or two other men to set up for the upcoming event the brigands were hyping up. The boss was supposed to make an appearance, and Dietfried was so ready to take him down and go back to his usual duties.

"Did you have specific men in mind for this particular maneuver?," he asked Dietfried, delighted by the sudden progress in the case.

"Trell Vogan and Viktor Litzbar," Dietfried answered without hesitation. These men were obviously the most competent for this uprising. Trell was the sharpest tactical shooter he'd seen since his brother, and Viktor moved with a fluid grace that was as entrancing to watch as it was deadly. Both together would make a lethal night for the brigands. His request was approved, and the men would join him at the unveiling ceremony tomorrow.

That evening, he took special care to visit with his mother. She seemed to be having a good night: her memory was mostly in tact at the start of his visit, and they were able to talk and laugh for a long while before she started to get tired. Her memory faded as her fatigue grew. As his time with her drew to a close, she laughed at his last story, then peered sadly at his face. "And, I'm sorry to ask, sir… but I've forgotten your name…." Sobered, he gave her the answer, and she smiled. "Ah yes, my son…. Dietfired. Of course…. Of course. I think I'll retire for the evening…. Good night."

She paused in the doorway, and turned to look back at him, shadows falling over her face from the dark hallway. "Oh, I just have the worst feeling…. You aren't in danger, are you, Captain?" The question sent chill bumps up his arms. There was a heaviness that settled into the room, but she seemed to forget she asked at all, and left her son alone. He wasn't superstitious in the least, but there was just _something_ about his mother's outburst that had him unnerved. He made a special note to be cautious tomorrow.

Early the day of Unveiling, Viktor, who was to assist with the release of the employees, set up near the hovel they were forced into each day. Trell was stationed toward the rear of the building, directly opposite to Dietfired in the room that they were going to reveal their newest weapon. One, or both, would fire on Mr. Roke, the big bad wolf himself, who was standing in the center of the room on a makeshift stage of wooden pallets. Dietfried couldn't suppress his bewilderment as he looked up and saw none other that Violet Evergarden standing next to the man, her suitcase holding her typewriter grasped in her gloved hands.

Aggrieved, Dietfried pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. _Of_ _course…_. Roke started the ceremony with words of grandeur and praise for their efforts and success on the new weapon, but Dietfried was so focused on altering his plans to ensure Violet's safety that he didn't quite catch all of it. He looked up and met Trell's questioning gaze. He made a subtle hand motion to indicate that the plan was changing. He tapped under his eye, then pointed to Trell and Roke. He then did the same to his other eye, his chest, and Violet. Trell gave the faintest of nods.

Violet kept her eyes downcast at her typewriter while she was introduced, performing a curtsy. As she rose from the motion, her blue eyes met his, and widened slightly in recognition. Dietfried was grateful for her lack of expression

"...And that is why I've hired this Doll: now you can write your loved ones about our success, and let them know we're on for our next step in the process! With this new gun, we can overrun the police and overtake this town!" His flunkies cheered, while some of the people just stared at him. These, Dietfried assumed, were forced into their supporting roles. "But, we will wait to start the official ceremony until after all the letters are complete! So, decide what order you want to go in, what you'd like for your families to know, and then we will re-congregate here. Dismissed!"

Hours drug by as each employee trickled into the designated space to have Violet type their letter. She worked swiftly, but there were many people in the crowd - about twenty-five in all, and indecisive with the lack of forewarning. The sealed envelopes next to her grew swiftly into large, neat stacks. Dietfried volunteered to go last, and when his turn finally arrived, he strode impatiently into her makeshift office, where she hovered, blank-faced, watching him with her fingers hovering over her typewriter keys.

"And who would you like your letter sent to?," she inquired, expectant.

"Gilbert," Dietfried said without hesitation, taking a seat before her. "Tell him his flower has taken yet another risky commission in an area I know her boss was properly warned off from, and that he should be sure to scold her." He kept his voice neutral, even dry, although as his eyes lit up with mischief. "And that I have a few ideas, should he need inspiration."

She put her hands in her lap, gaze sharp. "I find your behavior highly inappropriate. I have been commissioned to complete a letter for each employee here, and here you are dictating your own perverse thoughts to a man that we both know can't receive letters. I suggest you take this opportunity more seriously."

Dietfried sobered, then nodded. He had started to test her bantering skilss, but she was a slow study for anything beyond direct, honest communication. "Then, a letter to Claudia Hodgins. I need to have a discussion with you regarding Gilbert's little flower: she is showing signs of sass, individualism, and outright disregard for authority figures. What is the secret to cultivating the sort of environment required for such growth…? ….I approve." She hesitated at the end, annoyance crashing briefly into her features, then she was back to her typical expressionless demeanor.

"Dietfried… don't you have another topic of interest to write to others about? I think it might be more constructive to -" He held up a hand, expression somber.

"I don't want or need you to actually write a letter, Violet. You can type out whatever you want, but it will need to be for show. You have stumbled into another situation that risks your life, and I need to let you know what's about to happen here.

"As I'm sure you've guessed, this is a Navy operation. I have two other men here, and we're tasked with taking out Mr. Roke and this mystery weapon. You heard what he was planning. So when you go back out there, please be sure to leave promptly."

"I have not provided Mr. Roke a proper invoice yet of the services he is expected to pay for. He paid half of the estimate as a contractual deposit, but he must pay the other half before I depart. The fact that you plan to shoot him is irrelevant."

"Violet…. I think things will go south fast out there after the unveiling. I am trying to respect your desire to no longer kill." At this, she seemed to give her undivided attention over to Dietfried, the keys on her typewriter quiet. "For me to be able to assure your survival, without asking you to kill, I am asking you… please… to just stand back and try to stay out of the danger zone, okay?" She gave a faint nod, gave a few more pecks on the keys, then removed the paper from her typewriter to hand it to him. He glanced over it and gave a quiet snort. "Longfellow's 'A Psalm of Life'? You must've remembered it from the Bougainvillea esate…." He shook his head as he folded it and put the poem into his pocket. It was his favorite, and he'd purposely put it in the office area he'd half lived in these many months. Primarily due to the fact that he cleaned his gun in there, and he was always tempted to….

Well, that was hardly important just now. He left the room, Violet trailing behind him. They split off as he headed toward the back of the room, and she went to give notice and her finalized invoice to Mr. Roke. He glimpsed the total brusquely and half-crumpled the page in his hands as he retook the stage next to a large, sheet-covered item. "Everyone's done with their letters, then…?," he called out, eyes roaming across the faces before him. "Excellent. Gather around, all! I'm about to show you the most efficient weapon we've ever manufactured!" Dietfried met Trell's eyes, and nodded. He knew all this time that Viktor had been moving the employees to a lower floor, and just as this announcement was made, he'd entered the room and waded into the crowd, trying to get closer to the weapon.

Roke strode over to the sheet-covered item, and it struck Dietfried how much his eyes moved. It was almost as if he were searching for…. A cold chill swept up his arms. Violet was standing right next to him, and he was about to…! The next few moments, every detail was etched into Deitfried's awareness with fine detail as if the world were in slow-motion, even as the seconds whizzed by faster than bullets. He was moving before the sheet hit the ground, unveiling the shine of a silver auto machine gun. He'd almost made it to the pallets before the screams started, and the blood began to pour across the floor in great splashes of red.

 _Rata-tata-tata-rata-tata….._ It was the melody of a macabre dance of death. Each beat, a bullet left the chamber and slammed into the throng of bodies, causing one more splatter of red, one awful twitch from the one hit, the body sprawling onto the floor in one limp _schlap_ , then stillness. Person after person fell in Dietfried's peripheral vision. He dove onto the pallet and wrapped both arms around Violet as she dove toward the weapon - and thus, its weilder - with the intention of stopping the carnage. He had so much momentum built up that it took almost no effort to change her trajectory. One moment, she was dashing forward, the next she was wrapped up in the safety of his arms, and he was running her to safety.

Viktor was behind him in the fray of bullets, trying to get the survivors moving toward the exit. Trell had moved out of the way of the panicked, jostling crowd by moving onto the metal stairway. He was lining up a shot at Roke, who kept firing and laughing -a high, cackling, and broken sound that somehow carried over the gun's rapid fire. Viktor jerked, a bullet bursting through his body as Dietfried twisted toward the exit at the far end of the room, but he kept shouting to the people and managed to remain on his feet. Trell had moved higher, so that he could take a shot without endangering the bystanders. One _POP_ from Trell's gun, Roke jerked, falling to his knees, yet still keeping his hand on the trigger. Somewhere toward Viktor's side of the room, fire had broken out and was spreading over the paperwork and desks.

Another _POP_ , Roke's body spasmed, blood spurting from his neck as he sank down lower, his hand still on the trigger as he fell. The laughter stopped. The machine gun twisted with the change in pressure, and one final round of bullets scattered across the room. Dietfried lunged for the door, putting all of his strength into making it past the wooden frame of the exit, desperately hoping to save Violet.

Distant thoughts flickered through his mind.

His worried mother. _You aren't in danger… are you Captain?_

The drunkard on the street, who Roke had listened to far too well. _I think it'd be… 'd be a fun time, ya know…? Trying out tha n-new stuffs on tha employees before we leave. They'll jus' talk to tha cops and then we'll be busted! All 's gonna take 's a BOOM, an' then lights out for thems guys!_

Dietfried wondered if that drunk was one of the people whose eyes were glazing on the floor behind them as they cleared the doorway, and he hit the floor shoulder-first as the framework around the door splintered with the impact of bullets. He heard a _crack_ as he and Violet scooted across the floor, but couldn't place the sound. Later, he'd realize his collarbone had fractured under the impact of the fall. Later, he'd realize that Viktor had collapsed in the room in flames, lost either to the flames or bullets, he couldn't be sure. Later, he'd know that there were no others left inside to save. What few made it to the doors unscathed had already rushed outside the smoking building, including Trell, who'd used a window nearby to climb down and away.

Adrenalin coursing through his veins, Dietfried lurched to his feet and set Violet down on hers, then he gripped her arms roughly as he drowned in the blue of her eyes. He didn't know he was one step away from snarling at her as he told her to run, that he was going back to check for survivors before the fire laid waste to what was left of them. He turned to go back in, but Violet grabbed his hand, preventing his departure. She somberly shook her head, and started pulling him toward the stairs down. She'd seen each person drop, each one as their eyes glossed over and the life fled their bodies. There were no survivors on that floor. She was just glad the fire would take that horrific weapon with it. Neither of them realized, during the moment nor after, that they held hands coming down the four flights of stairs down, then into the open air of freedom.

Emergency vehicles swarmed the scene, lights flashing as the air filled with the sickeningly sweet twinge of smoke and burning flesh. Medical aid was provided, then they began to collect reports of the incident. Dietfried, as one of the only few calm and collected people involved, was questioned by multiple police officers. Confirmation was provided from the House that this was a Naval operation, as Dietfried claimed, and this did a lot toward reducing animosity shown toward him. The same people had to hear his story again after that: he assumed they had believed him to be responsible for the death toll prior to the commemoration of his story by others.

Violet was given especially kind treatment as the only woman involved. She had a blanket thrown across her shoulders and a cup of hot chocolate in her hand as she wove through the crowd to Dietfried, where he leaned against the railing by the closed roadside. He watched her move, and couldn't find any suggestion of injury to her body's sway, yet something was off. There was a tightness around her eyes that many wouldn't have noticed – another man might say she wore the same blank expression – yet Dietfried knew better: Violet was sad, disheartened by the day. She leaned against the rails next to him, and they peered together at the smoking building, saying nothing for a long moment.

"This will be yet another nightmare to awaken to," Dietfried said with a cool voice, accepting the reality of the survivor's guilt that always assaulted him after these sorts of things. "But at least Trell is alive…. His wife would shoot me in my sleep if he didn't make it back to her."

"And what of your other man that was in there?," she probed gently. "Viktor, wasn't it?"

"Gone," he half-whispered, the strength he'd been clinging to starting to fail him. "But he was the last of his family. He had no romantic interests: he had married his work, and was a good soldier. He was shot down while trying to hustle out the panicked workers. Either the wound or the fire took him, maybe both."

"Do you often memorize the personal lives of your men?"

"Who else will take care of the people they leave behind? The government ended the practice of supplying coin to the Soldier's Effects Fund years ago due to budget cuts and the increased military action of our country, which caused widows and orphans of the soldiers to multiply a hundred fold. Even if I don't help them personally, I'll call in favors to help them get jobs, provide resources such as my personal lawyer for specific services…." He shrugged, carefully not looking at Violet, whose eyes were so focused on him that he felt the need to squirm. "Whatever that can be done to help their transition…."

"And for men like Viktor? What do you do for those who have left no one behind?"

Dietfried turned to look at those deep blue eyes to provide his answer. "I remember them, grieve for them, and wish that good soldier was still alive and a lousy guy like myself could take their place in an afterlife I don't believe in, while they get to finish their time here. I think of all the ways I could've acted differently just for the possibility of another outcome….

"But each time I fall down into that rabbit hole, I eventually accept the reality that they're gone, and I'm here, no matter how much I don't deserve to be. I accept that I failed to protect them, even though I hate it. Sometimes I'll hate myself and want to die. You know better than most that the life of a soldier leaves you with horrible, disfiguring scars no one can see on the outside. Yet, you see them yourself, and feel unworthy of love. Undeserving of joy. Yet, as the wounds heal and turn to more scars, you can't help but look to a future where, maybe – just maybe – someone will look at you with love in their eyes. That… perhaps… though you'll never be free of them, maybe your scars will begin to fade with time, and you can be allowed happiness. Love."

He looked at the ground to gather himself, then back up at Violet. "What of you, Violet Evergarden? Have you started to search for love again, after all this time of grieving Gilbert?" She flinched a bit around the bottom of her eyes, and Dietfried was ashamed he'd even asked. He knew she still had not given up hope that someday his brother would walk back into her life. "Sorry. Forget I asked…. Excuse me, won't you? I've got some important business to attend to with the House."

He did not give her time to respond. He almost ran from her as she stood silhouetted by the orange rays of a setting sun.


	10. Chapter 10

Lieutenant Jeffries, Dietfried's superior officer, seemed to be expecting his visit. He was standing in his office, the lights dimmed just so. He was looking out the window when Dietfried knocked and came inside. For a moment, he stood just silently, observing the Lieutenant's broad back, the white of the Navy uniform lent a special presence to the officer in the softly-lit room. When his superior didn't say a word, Dietfried decided he'd waited long enough for permission to speak. They both knew why he was here.

"It's been four years to the day, Lieutenant. My debt has been paid, my promise fulfilled. The war is long over, and you no longer desperately need men to sustain the Naval force." He placed his white uniform, Navy-dispensed gun, and his identification as a Navy Captain onto the Lieutenant's desk. "As you know, 180 days ago I completed my pre-separation counseling with the intention of resigning my post today." He paused, giving his superior officer time to speak if desired. When he said nothing, Dietfried saluted anyway, for one last time. "Your last assignment to me is completed. You'll find my report on the Commander's desk. Another copy was provided to the general who initially brought this task to my attention. It has been an honor serving Leidenschaftlich." He relaxed his salute, then turned to depart.

He'd almost made it through the door before Lieutanant Jeffries spoke. "….And what is next for you, Dietfried?," he asked, turning so slightly that he could only just barely cut his eyes to the side enough to see the new civilian's retreating back. When Dietfried didn't respond, but did stop walking, he continued. "….I will keep your items for you, for now." His cruel, clever eyes sharpened as he managed to get Dietfried to turn and look at him over his shoulder. "But should you return for it in a week, or a month, or a year… well, it will be yours again.

"After all…. What is a man like you, a man of the **Bougainvillea** lineage, going to _do_ the rest of your life? You are a man married to his work, with no wife awaiting you at home. You don't even have an illegitimate love child to dote on. Your brother is gone – also prior to marriage and kids – so no nieces or nephews either. Yes, your mother lives, but with every day she fades…. You'll have nothing but your grief when she – your only remaining family member – is also gone." The last word stretched his lips into a grotesquely wicked smile, which widened when his gaze fell on Dietfried's closed and shaking fist, which hung tightly to Dietfried's side. "… Well, see you later," Jeffries said, turning away to observe the world through the window once more.

Dietfried stiffened, realizing he'd let Jeffries get under his skin, and then he strode down the hallway. As he passed the lounge, he looked up to see a familiar face, and he smiled. "Yo, Griff! How about that drink?"

…

The bar was packed with warm bodies. Some were wiggling drunkenly to the beat of the music, some hovered around, chatting while nursing a beer. Others were closer, and had a lustful air about their business that Dietfried was very adamant about ignoring. One of the men in the group had just finished telling a joke that sent a rumble of laughter across them, and in that distracted moment, a woman approached Dietfried from behind. She actually managed to startle a jerk out of him when she touched his shoulder, using it to twirl him around on the stool to face her.

His eyes widened as he took in the flushed face of Leela, who was leaning so close he could see the very faint freckles that dotted her skin just under her eyes and across her nose. She had the thick scent of alcohol wafting from her, stronger than the bar that was now behind Dietfried. Obviously, she'd been there for some time, and had taken more drinks than was best. "I've been watching you for _hours_ , Mr. Captain of the Navy," she huffed, glaring. "Just palling around with your guy group, eh…? Wha' about… _Mrs._ Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea?," she snipped, golden eyes narrowing. "You shouldn't keep her up waiting so late!" She grabbed the unbuttoned collar of his shirt and dragged him closer. Dietfried thought maybe she was trying to look threatening, but she only pulled off pouting and dazed.

"Okay…. First step, single," he said flashing his lack of wedding band on his left hand. "Second, I retired from the Navy just before coming over here, so I'm neither keeping a woman up and guessing, nor am I Captain Bougainvillea." He tilted his head ever so slightly to the right, squinting just a touch. "Just how much have you been drinking tonight, Leela?"

"Ahhh, tha's not important here, Mister!," she exclaimed. "Yoooou are trying to change the subject! I was tryin' to.…" She faltered here, her cheeks flushing a deep scarlet. "I was…." She pulled back from him to do a small spazzy movement with her hands and legs, which was absolutely adorable. Dietfried couldn't help but chuckle, but his amusement was short lived as she turned, glared at his amused expression, then lunged at him.

He scooted back on the stool until he was just about to fall off the other side, his hands flying back to grip the bar's counter top and prevent an embarrassing meeting with the floor, leaving him with an unusually lax posture, leaning back against the counter while Leela had one knee on his stool, and was curved so that her chest was just touching his, her face leaning in just inches away from his. Her anger had drained away, and there was a soft wonder in her eyes as she examined his features up close. Confused and a little off-kilter, Dietfried froze, looking slightly up at her. "….Leela?," he asked, voice soft, like one would speak to a feral animal.

Her eyes fell to his mouth, and her lips parted a little, her breath easing out from them. She was wearing a pink lip gloss that smelled sweetly of strawberries. Dietfried's eyes flew back up to her eyes as she began to speak again. "Ya know… You kind of owe me, Dietfried," she said. "For taking Zilly from me…." She hadn't moved her attention from his mouth until just then, and she took a long moment to look him over from head to toe, hovering a long moment at the pale expanse of his chest that flashed from his partly-unbuttoned shirt, then back to his face. "I was thinkin'… maybe you should take the place she left behind." Her mouth descended, and Dietfried watched in numb shock. Her lips were getting closer and closer, until the last word was whispered against his own, and then she kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, exploring. Her lips were soft, and warm…. It'd been a long time since he'd been kissed like that.

One of the other men whistled, someone asked if he was next, and another laughed. "So _that's_ why he's been visiting all those widows!"

Dietfried finally recovered and straightened, his hands reaching up to push her gently back away from him, smiling sadly at her. "Leela, you're in no state to be making decisions like this. Here…. I'll take you home." He was surprised to see her eyes glisten with tears, then she nodded and pulled back without speaking, heading toward the door. He said bye to the guys, who cat-called after them in a good-natured way.

Once outside, they walked side by side, but Leela's eyes were downcast to hide her emotions. Dietfried wasn't sure how to comfort her. "I don't think anyone could possibly fill the place Zilly left behind," he said, trying for nonchalant. "She was an amazing woman, and I am not an amazing guy. I remember seeing the two of you – do you remember Tully, and her dinner party? You two were helping Tully get everything ready, and something exploded in the oven, at the same time something caught fire in the microwave." He chuckled. "Tully was beside herself, but Zilly somehow had the situation handled and the whole group relaxed and laughing…." He shook his head.

Leela gave a soft bark of laughter. "Yeah… Tully was never much of a cook. That never stopped her from trying though." They shared an amused glance, then they both looked away, cheeks slightly flushed as they remembered the kiss. "So…," Leela asked, rubbing her arms as if cold. "Why _isn't_ there a Mrs. Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea?"

Dietfried shrugged, watching the town around them buzz with the lazy life that quietly stirred after the sun had set. The stars above them glistened, and the gentle breeze smelled lightly of the waters in the bay, and hinted at the first freezing of winter. "I have only dated one woman with any ring of long-term dedication." There was a lengthy pause between that admission and the next, and Leela wondered if he would continue. He took a deep breath and sighed, the crisp wind giving life to his exhale by coloring it a bright white. "I was having a lot of trouble with PTSD," he said at last, as if the words were ripped from deep within him. "I'd take a bath, and something would trigger me. I'd start screaming, and she'd come running, only to find me in a shivering mess of a flashback, thinking the water was blood and I was drowning in it. Or we'd be sleeping at night and I'd wake up with a terrible nightmare…. Sometimes I'd just be walking down the street with her when I was triggered, and I'd spend the rest of the day in a disassociated depersonalized haze: I couldn't uphold decent conversations with her like that, and it could take days for me to really fall back into _myself_ again.

"So, flashback after flashback; nightmares; hyper-vigilance; excessive feelings of shame, guilt, self-blame, and failure; random episodes of violent shivering; catatonic shut downs…. It was too much for her. I tried counseling, but nothing seemed to help much. The last straw was when she triggered me while we were… intimate."

Leela's eyes flew up to his face, but it was his turn to not meet that expectant golden gaze. "How…?," she asked, alarmed.

"She wanted to try… cuffs. On me. It didn't go well." He glanced at her horrified face, then away. "Worst flashback I'd ever had, and the only one I'd ever had of that sort. I screamed – something I never do, really. Screamed like someone was killing me slowly. Nearly pulled my arm out of its socket thrashing and trying to get out of it. She finally got me loose, and I stopped screaming, but we couldn't stop my shivering.

"We didn't sleep at all that night, and the next day, she asked me about what this one was about. When I told her, she packed her bags, and she hasn't spoken to me since. And I guess I don't blame her. But since then, I haven't been serious with anyone else. Haven't wanted to try again."

Leela was quiet a moment. "Do you still suffer so?"

"Not as much. My flashbacks are more rare now, some of the old triggers are gone. I found ways to focus my hyper-vigilance for the good of those around me. When it's really rough, I usually take the day off and stay home to work through it."

"Forgive me for asking, but what made the cuffs so much worse than the others?"

He thought about not answering that question. It was terribly personal, yet he hadn't had someone to talk to about it since that old girlfriend. Maybe he was feeling as lonely as Leela. Maybe he'd had one glass of wine too many, but he decided to answer with the truth. "You're aware of my family line, yes?"

She seemed confused a moment, the topic change throwing her slightly. "...Yes. Your family has been associated with the military for many generations."

"Exactly. Well, my father wasn't the gentle type. I wanted to join the Navy rather than the army, and had known this since a young age. I had thought about it carefully, and was resigned to make my own path. When I was eight, I made the mistake of telling Father… he went crazy. He beat me, cuffed me and started carving my rebellion out of the flesh from my back. I thought he was going to skin me alive.

"It seemed as if he cut on me for hours. I screamed… begged for mercy… cried from the agony. He didn't stop, only told me that real Bougainvillea men went into the army. Real Bougainvillea men didn't scream or beg for mercy, or show emotion. The maid came back from a grocery store trip, heard me, and came running. Father turned me over to her, then, and commanded her to keep her mouth shut. Mother was about to give birth to Gilbert, and was in the hospital. He didn't want her to know."

Leela was aghast. "Was that the first time he'd shown such violent tendencies?"

"No, he beat me frequently for no reason at all. That experience was just the worst one. He was always rough with his fists and words, but only for me. He never hit mother. And I didn't give him an option for my brother."

"How?"

"When Gilbert was born, Father was at the hospital throughout Mother's labor, which lasted through the night. I got to meet Gil, bandages underneath my shirt still from that incident. I was overwhelmed with love and protectiveness for that tiny boy, and I made a decision then that he would never know the suffering I had. Father made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch when we returned home, and he awoke with his own knife jabbing into his throat, and I told him that I would exchange his life for a promise that he would never lay a hand on Gilbert as he had me. He agreed, and I warned him that I would end him should he ever brake that promise. He never did. I would even say he managed to be a good father for Gil."

Leela was silent, absorbing. "...And what if I told you I was serious about you still taking Zilly's place?," she asked, smiling coyly at him.

He glanced at her, and snorted softly. "You're just being lazy. Not wanting to charm someone into your bed, so you use my guilt against me, eh?" They both had a laugh, then he sobered. "If you're serious about that, then we can talk about it when you bring it up sober. I don't take advantage of drunken impulses. Honestly, I'm betting you either won't remember that proposition or you won't want to discuss it again."

They arrived at Leela's house, and he ensured she was safely tucked away in bed with some asprin and water at her bedside, then he returned home. She watched him leave from her bedroom window, smiling. She touched her lips, remembering the feel of his. She hadn't been as drunk as she feigned, but he didn't need to know that. She hadn't been sure if she still liked men, and that had been the perfect experiment.

The result: she did.

…..

It rained late in the night and on through the next day. The wind continued to smell softly of winter's biting perfume, clean and clear, yet crisp with the promise of a frozen future. Dietfried had a rare day when he decided not to tie his hair back into a braid. This was the first day he'd have at home as a free man, and he needed to set himself up for productivity. He knew all too well what happened to people when they retired. Something about removing a person from ritual and routine combined with a general lack of problems to solve decays the mind's ability to function properly and reduces a person to little better than an invalid.

He organized his office, locked his guns into the safe in the corner of the room, and went through his old papers to remove unnecessary clutter. The maid checked on him from time to time: she always seemed to think him suicidal when he entered the office. He'd spent some rough days cleaning his guns and contemplating his existence, and he had suspected that she watched from the shadows, silently willing him to live. She was a wonderful lady, and he was glad to claim her as family. Her own son was gone, lost sixteen years hence in an accident.

With some reluctance, he began to sort through reports and documents from the various businesses his family owned. There were several scattered throughout the country, but none of them operated poorly, so that each one had revenues at the end of each quarter. Though Dietfried wouldn't directly manage any of them, he did meet with the management and provided suggestions based on the numbers he notated as significant. When they offered to allow him management rights, he refused. He had no intentions of getting eyeball deep in this stuff: he wasn't around the employees to make decisions such as who would be better suited for what job. He didn't know their individual strengths or passions. He hadn't even wanted to inherit the businesses: that was one of many duties the Head of Household for which Gilbert had been better suited. Alas, with no other alternatives, Dietfied dug into the world of Accounts Receivables, percentages, profits, and expenses.  
A knock on the front door caught his attention. The maid had left on a grocery run an hour ago, so he was forced to pause and go to the front doors personally. He opened the grand entrance, and was surprised to see Violet standing there in her work clothes and typewriter case in hand. She greeted him, and he watched her eyes go to his hair, which fanned out around his neck and shoulders, flowing to about mid-back since it wasn't in a pony tail at the moment. A faint smile played at the corners of her eyes.

"A rare sighting, the prim and proper Dietfried Bougainvillea himself… caught with his hair down," she said, voice gentle to soften the accusation.

He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes, gestured for her to come inside while side stepping to allow her room to do so, then gave a half-mocking bow. "Your humble servant is just pleased that his pants were not the object caught out of proper alignment," he sniffed, crossing his arms after closing the door behind her. "I assume you've come to finish your work with Mother?," he asked, leading her toward the room his mother's parlor after her quiet nod.

He couldn't help but smile as he left the two ladies inside together, their pleasant dialogue soothing the awkwardness that he felt hovered between Violet and himself after their last encounter. He wondered if he was the only one who felt that slight sting from his unanswered question.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day was only day two of freedom, and the house already felt as if the windows had vanished and left him in solitary confinement, so Dietfried went meandering around with no specific destination in mind. His feet took him to the bay, where the ferry went back and forth across the water. He found himself excited about the nostalgia of the water-tinged air dampening his hair, the wind whipping at his clothes and his sea legs holding him steady as the boat moved toward its destination. He bought a ticket to the other side, and leaned onto the railing as they took off. His excitement was almost as thorough as when he first set foot on a boat for the Navy: full of newness, wonder, and yet a twinge of fear… though not that he would ever admit that last to anyone.

...Maybe his after-Navy job should be a ferryman? He almost laughed aloud. The pay would be piteous in comparison. Why would he blockade off his time into yet another schedule that he could not dictate? No, he wanted to make better use of himself. Public service, although entirely necessary to the vitality of the town, wasn't for Dietfried. Although he was good with people, he wanted to accomplish something with his time away from the Navy.

He didn't want to admit it, but he missed it already.

With a heavy sigh, he found himself disappointed to realize his thoughts kept him occupied the entire ferry ride, and they were already at the other side, ready to dismount. He was one of the last off the boat, reluctant to come aground again. He hovered by the bay, even though the boat had long since re-boarded and took off again. It was not often he came to the far side of the bay, so he eventually decided to explore and see what was new.

The hour had become later than he realized, and Dietfried's stomach began to growl in a most unseemly way. The delicious scent of meat pies, freshly baked bread, and pungent odor of alcoholic beverages wafted to his nose, and his mouth watered. He followed it around the corner and found a tavern there. He stepped inside, and found the scene to be somewhat...different from the typical lively tavern. Everyone had food and drink, but the bartender's area was larger, with a microphone, and as he buzzed around the counter making drinks, he told a story. The man's hair was short and spiked, the color of the midnight sky, and his skin was golden brown, as if he'd spent many hours in the sun over his lifetime. Dietfried placed him somewhere around late 30's or so in age. His muscled upper body was stuffed into a form-hugging black shirt, which was almost mesh-like material, that he'd tucked into brown dress pants and secured with a brown leather belt.

Interested in the story, Dietfried sat down in one of the seats toward the back, where the quiet waitstaff took his order and scurried to the kitchen. His wine order, though, one of them wrote on a piece of paper and quietly attached it to a rotating metal piece near the bar. Without stopping his story or hesitating at all, the bartender twisted the metal piece, retrieved the order, opened a bottle of wine to pour his drink, then placed it on a conveyor belt for the waitstaff to retrieve and return to Dietfried.

The food, when it arrived, was delicious and perfectly cooked, but he hardly noticed it. Like all the others, he'd become immersed in the story. There was something about the manner of the bartender that ensared his attention. Dietfried was amazed as the bartender's expression, voice, and reaction styles literally changed with the character he attempted to portray, as if he were a one-man theater, or a bard of old times. The bartender's eyes met his, and only then did Dietfried realize that those eyes were the same shade as molten iron: a fiery orange-gold, the likes of which Dietfried had never seen before.

Dietfried's mind was racing during the last of the story, and before he knew it, the bartender had rolled into a new one about a beautiful courtesan who was married to a cruel man that frequently sold her body to gain free business favors.

"The courtesan was as intelligent as she was beautiful: she did his bookkeeping when she was permitted to spend time in the office," the bartender said as he cleaned a cup. "During all the time she did this, she was not permitted to be paid for her efforts, so she took small pieces of the profits from her husband's company and set it aside for herself, desperately hoping to earn her , over the course of time, she became impregnated by either the husband or one of the patrons he forced on her. "I'm pausing the story to recap: Do you recall the young chevalier servant from last week's story? If you recall, he was raised by his poor mother in a brothel, and when he reached eleven, he looked to be the age of consent – only 13 at the time, though now it's 16. As a result, his mother decided to sell him. A doctor who was passing by saw the boy playing the piano and singing. He fell instantly in love, and bought the boy. He renamed him to Kitoran, trained him to read and write, explained social etiquette, how to run his business, and made him into a medical assistant.

"And so, the meeting of these two stories: the husband was outraged to find that his courtesan was with child. He called the good doctor to confirm the pregnancy, and abort the child. Now, the doctor was livid to be commanded to do anything at all, and resented even the suggestion that he perform such a terrible act, especially against the mother's will. She wanted to give the child life and raise it with love. So, the doctor and Kitoran secretly started arrangements for her escape.

"They told the husband they completed the procedure, but would need to return for a check up in one week, as the process can cause internal bleeding. This would provide the necessary time to provide her a place to go, and provisions to help her disappear. With preparations complete, they returned promptly one week later. The doctor would indicate to the husband that there was severe internal bleeding, and that they would need to take the courtesan to the hospital immediately. He would stay to discuss the intake procedures for the hospital and have the man sign paperwork to admit her, while Kitoran and the courtesan would escape to an awaiting carriage a block down the way.

"Sadly, the doctor gambled and lost that evening. He thought the husband, being a busy business man with no time to waste on his underappreciated wife, would not read the documents he'd set before him. These documents were not admission papers for the hospital, but release of care for his wife and a bill of divorce. The husband signed, as requested, but then began to read over the documentation. Enraged at the deception, he takes out his gun and shoots the doctor, killing him immediately. Kitoran hears the gunshot from down the street, and he quickly puts together what must've happened. Grief-stricken, he shoves the lady into the carriage and they flee into the night, and she comforts him as he cries for the doctor.

"Later, they would discover that the good doctor left Kitoran all of his money, property, and businesses, setting him up to have a good lifestyle for the rest of his days. Amazed, he turns to the courtesan, who had chosen the new name of Adelia, and reveals his new wealth… along with his intentions to provide for her and the child she carried. He wanted to raise that child as his own, and professed his undying love for her that had grown over the many months they'd spent in hiding together. She did not want to ever marry again, but agreed to be his lover and to raise the child as their own.

"The baby was a girl. Kitoran got to spend eight beautiful years raising her together with Adelia. As a medical assistant, he taught her how to help ease a dying man's mind and provide comfort, he taught her all human weak points and self-defense that he'd learned both by the doctor's side and as a sex-servant. He showed her how to compartmentalize her emotions when she was in a tough situation and just act without feeling guilty for the outcome. He showed her how to use guns, knives, and a battle ax for defense, just as he had learned from the doctor, who'd been an army doctor for many years. He taught her a love of theater and music. She was becoming a beautiful young lady, with sharp intelligence behind her blue eyes.

"Alas, their story does not have a happily ever after. The war began, and their little family would never be the same. We'll pick back up on that one next week!"

A collective good-natured groan wracked the crowd, and then the noise began as the bartender rested his voice. Dietfried looked at his watch with no small amount of astonishment. He'd been there for _hours_. That bartender had some kind of special gift. He'd never let his guard down so thoroughly. He blinked a few times and reoriented his mind within himself, paid for his meal and drinks, and approached the bar. He shook hands with the man, and asked his name. "My friends call me KJ," he said, smiling. Dietfried complemented his story telling, and thanked him for a good choice of wine, then departed.

Dietfried had to return each week for a few weeks to gather the remainder of the story that had so enthralled him. The gist was that the mother was injured by invaders and later died of complications, leaving Kitoran to care for the child as best he could alone. They were in the midst of Bociaccia, near Intesne, and thus found themselves swarmed by enemy soldiers. With little choice, Kitoran offered what medical aid he could for the wounded, but his looks, musical talent, and theatrical tendencies earned him the attention of some higher-ranking officers. There was a general there who offered Kitoran a place by his side in the army ranks, but the offer was refused since Kitoran needed to care for his daughter.

The final night of the story telling, Dietfried was seated in what had become his usual spot in the back, although this time he'd brought his mother for a day of fun: they'd wandered the shops together. They drank tea, bought a few trinkets, and enjoyed the last remnants of fall as winter hovered around the corner. There was a music show on the corner, and they paused to enjoy it. When the sun started falling toward the horizon, he led his mother into the tavern to meet KJ. He and KJ had held many conversations in these past weeks, and they had become fast friends. KJ was excited to meet Dietfried's mother, who seemed equally happy to meet him. He bid them a fun time, and returned to the bar to start the story again. After a brief recap, the story continued, and Dietfried was once more swept away.

"Kitoran's refusal enraged the general, and so he threatened to slay the girl, then to give her to his men for a play thing. Horrified, Kitoran begged him to spare her such a fate, and said he would accept whatever role the general desired for himself. To punish Kitoran, the general said he would spare the girl by making her into a soldier, if Kitoran became his personal sex slave and underwent a trial. He agreed, eager to earn his child any reprieve he could. He knew with the training he'd done with her that she would make an excellent soldier, and anything was better than being passed around for anyone to use as they pleased. He'd been there, knew its horrors and the aftermath.

"The trial was to walk naked across the battlefield, erect, while the battle raged and men died around him. Upon his arrival to the general's location, he would take him before any present soldiers. At any point, if he fell flaccid, the deal was off and the child would be killed. Many men that were present for that moment still talk about the wonder of Kitoran's trial," KJ said, setting another drink on the platform. "They can't seem to stop seeing him, sun glistening on his bare skin, body ready for what awaited him on the other side of the field, but his face was utterly expressionless. Blood splattered across his chest and hip as a man literally died with a spray of blood next to him, but nothing phased him. He made it all across the field, meeting all of the general's demands. The general was unnerved by the show, though, and refused to finish the disgusting ceremony he'd forced on his new slave.

"He'd made good on his promise, though. The girl was taken away and trained, but they were rough with her. She was injured badly at one point, and lost her memories of her family. Kitoran begged his general for news of her, but one day the general refused to talk of her at all. Kitoran let it go for a long time, but then he brought her up again years later, desperate to hear of his child. 'That creature is a demon,' he said, crossing himself in the way of the religious in Intense. 'I hope she's dead.' Horrified, Kitaro began to ask every soldier around, but they did not know the fate of his young one. He went under the stairs to grieve, and fell asleep there on the cold stone.

"That was the night that the Leidenschaftlich army attacked intense, defeated the stronghold, and ended the war. No one seems to know what happened to Kitoran that night. Some say he died in the bombing. Others think he was taken by the enemy faction that later went on to attack the envoy train that carried the peace ambassador to the treaty signing…." KJ shurgged. "Equally a mystery is what became of his warrior daughter, who was so young when forced into becoming a soldier."

The crowd clapped, and began to disperse. Dietfried's mother looked up at him, distraught. "That's it?," she pressed, distraught. "I wanted a happy ending." Dietfried smiled a bit at her petulant look. "Well, sometimes that's how stories end, mother. You just don't know the true ending." Dietfried then suggested that they start home. His mother agreed, saying she'd had a wonderful time, but she was suddenly not feeling well.

"Do you feel well enough to walk to the ferry, or would you prefer for us to catch a taxi?," Dietfried asked, looping her arm around his and waving goodbye to KJ.

"A taxi would be lovely….," she answered, looking suddenly older and pale. "If you could manage…?"

Dietfried waved one down just outside of the tavern, and leaned forward to open the backdoor, but the flash of silver caught his attention. The driver had just pulled out a gun. Time slowed down for him, and he looked past the barrel to the driver, and was surprised by recognition. This was one of many underling-type men he'd seen around the Naval office: someone who was loyal to Lieutenant Jefferies, named Drexel Vogt. Drexel's eyes were on him as he raised the weapon and aimed it right at Dietfried's mother. Horrified, Dietfried dropped the shopping bags and his coat, which he'd had tucked into the nook of his arm, then shoved himself off of the door of the vehicle, pushing his body in front of hers. He reached for his own gun, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears, but his hand clasped around empty air. He had forgotten: when he'd left the navy, he'd turned in the only gun he'd had a holster for, so he didn't have one one him tonight.

 _Rata-rata-tata_. The window between them shattered. A bullet slammed into the upper left of his chest, right where his mother's face would've been had he not moved himself there just in time. He imagined his body was made of steel, and prayed that the bullet would not pass through his body into her. Another burst the skin of his left bicep, and he felt the hot rush of blood flow stickily down his arm toward his hand, where it dangled uselessly by his side. A third missed, slamming into the brick of the building behind him. A fourth sank somewhere into his mid-section. Pain burst like fireworks through his body, but his training still held true, keeping him on his feet and defending his mother. People around him were screaming. The door to the tavern behind him slammed open. KJ ran out to Dietfried's side, his revolver raised to answer the onslaught, and with a click of the hammer and one distinct _POP,_ Drexel's skull burst into bits of gore and blood throughout the vehicle.

Dietfried's ears were ringing, his breathing too loud and ragged. His mother was crying. People were screaming. Everything was still in slow motion for him. His eyes fell to the bags below, and the items that were scattered around his feet. He leaned down and slipped on his coat, thinking it would help prevent distressing his mother further if she didn't see his blood. Police came. Reports were filed. He answered all of their questions, showed them his permit. He was pleasantly surprised by the fact they didn't try to arrest KJ. Between having a witness of a well-known family, other reports indicating the driver firing first, and Dietfried's history as a Naval officer with no known infringements, they didn't seem to question the shooting on their part as self-defense.

They were on their way home in relatively efficient timing, and were even provided the kindness of a police ride home. KJ left the manager in charge of the bar, and followed them to the Bougainvillea estate in his own car. The officer had taken a liking to Dietfried's mother, so he stood at her door, chatting with her as Dietfried leaned against the car. He was starting to feel sick, and maybe more than a little dizzy. The sound of gravel crunching beneath tires drew him out of the haze he'd been slipping into. He looked up to see none other than Claudia and Violet pour out of the car, their faces alarmed.

"Yo!," he called to them, and the police officer's attention fell on them. Dietfried looked toward the house and noticed the maid hovering inside. He made an indication with his eyes and a nod of his head for her to take his mother inside. She understood, bless her, and his mother was safely tucked inside within a moment. Relieved, he turned his focus back to the new arrivals. KJ came up to stand next to him, peering at him with that intense golden gaze of his.

"Dietfried?," KJ barely moved his lips. "Man, I know you were hit back there. Why are we just standing here rather than taking you to the hospital? Why are you playing it cool?" Dietfried struggled to answer. "It's…. because… I want to make sure Mother stays inside. I can't make a fuss, or she'll be all…." He trailed off, closing his eyes for a second. He startled when KJ's hand closed over his shoulder, and Dietfried realized that he'd swayed, dangerously close to collapse. Claudia was engaged in a conversation with the officer near the front door of the estate, which confused Dietfried. How much time had he lost…? He felt a stare, and looked up to meet Violet's bright blue eyes.

She approached him, and stood before him silent. "Dietfried? ….I asked 'are you well'?" She said that as if she had said it more than once already.

He opened his mouth to answer her, but a cough racked him. It was a dry, hacking sound that accompanied a sharp, stabbing chest pain that radiated out through his shoulder and back. His eyes lost focus. He frowned, struggling to give her his full attention. The ground seemed to be moving, but he knew he stood still….

"Yeah!," the officer proclaimed, sounding excited. "It's in the backseat. Let me grab it!" He ran to the opposite side of Dietfried, and reached in to grab an item from the floorboard, but froze. There was blood on the leather seats. He stood up so fast he nearly hit his head on the roof. He looked up, startled, at Dietfried.

"Um… Mr. Bougainvillea?," he prodded, concerned. "Have you…. Have you been injured this entire time?," he asked, his certainty of the answer solidifying, and his alarm increasing the entire way.

"...Mr. Bougainvillea?"

The officer began to run to him after taking one good look at Dietfried's face. He looked sharply at Violet, his voice deep with alarm. "Does his skin look blueish to you?" She nodded, tension around her eyes. KJ touched his hand to Deitfried's forehead. Taken aback, he started to side step away, but the world tilted, and he lost his sense of up and down. Or left or….

The world was eaten by little black dots.

…

Voices drifted in and out. He was aware of movement, shuffling about, and an alarm. He struggled back into consciousness and found himself leaving the interior of an ambulance on a stretcher, going toward the emergency room at the hospital. He heard shouting from inside, but could only make out some of what they were saying.

"Tachycardia... Hypotension... Cyanosis... Multiple gunshot wounds... Suspected lung collapse…."

"I think I'm going to be sick," he said to no one in particular, thinking that the people around him should know. Then, a cough wracked him, and he propped himself on the edge of the stretcher, leaned over, and half-coughed, half-vomited up blood. More shouts ensued. Darkness rose up like a tidal wave before him. Cold metal hands touched his shoulders - ( _Why were his shoulders bare? He never removed his shirt because of the scars_ ….) - easing him back onto the stretcher, then pressed into his forehead. The cold was very soothing, and he fell back under the deep recess of blackness.

His mind continued to piece together events as the quiet dark covered him. Short bursts of memory returned.

KJ _, catching his dropping body._

 _Claudia and Violet removing his shirt. They flipped him over and pressed the shirt into the wounds on his back while the police officer radioed in a medical emergency._

The scars…. She saw them…. _She SAW…._

 _Chaos. Shouts. A loud noise, blaring, hurting his ears with its intensity._

 _Someone took his blood pressure, another shined a light at him and asked him his name. He struggled, couldn't speak his answer._

 _She answered for him. She stayed by his side in the ambulance as they sped to_ _ward more_ _help. She kep_ _t_ _him in the stretcher when he'd nearly coughed himself out of it… even though she'd_ _ **seen them**_ _…._

 _The next brief awareness was in a room surrounded by lights, and someone whispered in his ear. "Don't you die on me, Dietfried." But he thought he'd already heard the flat line once._

Sleep fell heavily on him after that, and he knew nothing.


	12. Chapter 12

Sometime, in the darkness, a voice whispered in his ear. _"Those bullets weren't meant for you, son. I should've guessed that you'd… . Well, you used to be more selfish. It looks like I'll get my wish regardless: He is coming. But… you get better, kid."_

More darkness. Soft sobbing, then…

Dietfried was pleasantly surprised to awaken, but even more so to see Violet Evergarden sleeping in a chair that sat at his bedside. He couldn't help but stare: she looked so… defenseless. It was unusual: he would've never used that word lightly for her. Her long lashes rested against her cheek, and her face was paler than typical. Her hair fell in messy strands from the normally neat braided buns she kept while in her work outfit. He was struck by how shiny it was, and couldn't resist the desire to touch it. He ran the silky thread through his fingers, and was shocked that the action didn't awaken her.

"She's been awake for the past forty-eight hours keeping an eye on you," KJ explained as he entered the room and noticed Dietfried was awake. "You gave us quite a scare, man." That statement sparked memory in Dietfried. He gasped sharply, and sat up too fast. Pain burst in his torso at the same time dizziness besieged him. He shuddered at the intensity of the episode, his face paling. KJ was suddenly there, putting a supporting hand on his uninjured arm. "Hey, hey…. You really shouldn't be moving around-"

"Mother! Is she okay?," Dietfried demanded through gritted teeth, reaching a shaking hand out to grasp KJ's shirt. "Did any of the bullets hit her?" KJ shook his head, his expression falling into a blank mask. Dietfried released his shirt, unnerved. "No, your mother was not hit by a single one," he reassured him. "But she isn't doing well, D. She's fallen ill in the week since you've been here."

 _Mother_ _is_ _….ill? I've been here a_ _ **week**_ _?!_

Dietfried struggled to process the new information, but only managed a surface-level grasp. He stuffed it into the back of his mind to process later. An entire week. . . that meant he'd missed the first of the new month. He hoped his lawyer had gotten wind of the incident and had given the families he usually visited the money they needed for the upcoming month. "What else have I missed?," he requested, looking blandly at KJ.

"You've had four different emergency surgeries," KJ said, still expressionless. "Two were to remove bullets that were still in your body. One was to fix your collapsed lung. The other was because you'd started to hemorrhage and fell into cardiac arrest. You've got a long road of recovery ahead." Dietfried nodded, and was startled when Violet spoke.

"And… they had to cut your hair," she spoke softly. According to KJ's stricken expression, he wasn't going to tell him this fact. Dietfried reached an unsteady hand up and touched the butchered locks of his hair. It hadn't been this short since his father last shaved his head nearly thirty years ago. He felt around it, and was relieved that it wasn't buzzed to his scalp. There was still a few inches of it up there. "Ah…," he said, breathing out slowly, pleased when his voice didn't waver. "Well, that will grow back." He sent Violet a pained but appreciative glance. He could only imagine her own agony that this hair cut created for her. He looked enough like Gilbert, even when his hair was long, for her to sometimes think at first glance Dietfried could be Gil. Now… it was sure to be a constant haunting of her heart until the hair grew back. He'd have to be sure to give her as much space as he could stand. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more pain. He cleared his throat, looking away from her to KJ. "Has a doctor examined Mother? What's her status?"

"The doctor said that a virus has caused the beginnings of liver failure…. They don't ...expect her to recover, Dietfried. I'm so sorry. They've given her a month, at most." He nodded, again, stuffing the data to the back of his mind. He would check himself out of the hospital as soon as possible without excessive risk to his health, then go be by her bedside until…. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the door to his room burst open, and his lawyer flew into the room like a tidal wave. He was pale and covered in sweat, as though he'd ran all the way to Dietfried's room from some far away place in that thick, woolen coat he always wore. "Gadaren?," Dietfried said, expectantly, feeling himself fall into the same head-space he'd used as a Navy commander when things all around him were going poorly, and he needed his mind to be clear to make choices for his men. KJ took this moment to take a sip from the water bottle he'd had on the small dresser next to Dietfried.

Breathing heavily, Gadaren rubbed his thick black mustache where it curled up at the end, then pushed up his rounded bronze glasses up the thick bridge of his nose. "M… Mr. Bougainvillea," he started, and everyone paused when KJ immediately spit out the water in his mouth, spraying Dietfried in a wide spritz of water. Shocked out of his serious head-space, Dietfried looked up at KJ quizzically, shaking the moisture off of his arms. KJ's eyes were wide, and he pointed at Dietfried. "Y-your last name is _Bougainvillea?!"_

"Well, yeah," Dietfried acknowledged, eyebrows cocked questioningly. When KJ just stared at him, he turned back to his lawyer. "Go ahead, Gadaren."

His lawyer had taken the distraction to get his breathing under control, although he was still sweating. "Mr. Bougainvillea, there have been a rash of attacks in town. You and your mother... The widow Elvire's home was set fire to… while she and the children were inside. They didn't make it out. They haven't ruled out foul play yet…. But Madame Gilford is safe."

Violet looked at Dietfried, whose face had been pale -likely due to the pain he was in- before the lawyer had arrived, but now he looked as if there were no blood in his face at all: sheet white. Despite such a huge loss, he did not weep, just took the blow and kept moving.

Dietfried's voice was tight when he asked "...And Leela?"

His lawyer shook his head. "Her home was broken into, but she was not at home last night. They do not know where she is currently."

"What time is it? Gadaren, give me your phone," Dietfried said, his voice projecting like a true commander, expression dire. "It's… seven in the morning," KJ provided, looking at his watch. Dietfried slammed down the numbers on the phone's number pad, and waited anxiously as the bar's phone rang and rang, with no answer. Finally, someone picked up, and a gruff male voice said "Harvey's."

"Is there a golden-eyed, silver-haired rowdy woman in your pub?," Dietfried asked, voice low and urgent. The man grunted, sounding aggrieved. "Yeah – she belong to you? You-"

"Please put her on the phone," Dietfried said, leaving no room for opposition in his tone. The man grunted, and after some noise, Leela's voice slurred into the speaker, and relief poured over Dietfried, although he didn't show it. "Ther' ya are, ya bastard," she snapped. "Ya know, for all the years ya came like clockwork an' I didn't want ya to, and then this one time I do, an' ya don't show?! Wha' kinda guy are ya?!"

"Leela," he said, her name a dark rumble of warning. She fell silent. "In the name of Zillipheradora Von Weber, I need you to listen to me now, if you ever have. Can you hear me well?" She made a sound of acknowledgment, but nothing else. "Do _not_ go to your home. Do not go anywhere that someone might expect you to be. Do not stay at that bar another moment. When you leave, check for a tail, and move like you're loosing one. Be extremely cautions and make your way to a place you can hide out for a few days, at least. I am in the hospital-" Here, she interrupted with a sharp " _Hospital?",_ but he continued, ignoring the outburst. "-and I cannot come to you right now. Do not say where, but do you have a safe place you can go?" She confirmed that she did. "Then get there, now. Do not hesitate, and do not let your guard down the entire way. Your life could be in the balance, Leela. Now, go." He hung up even as she started asking questions, and handed the phone back to Gadaren. He said a quiet prayer that he got through that stubborn head of hers.

Suddenly exhausted, Dietfried rested his head in his hands, placing his elbows on his thighs, and he closed his eyes. "You should rest, Dietfried," KJ said gentle, yet insistent. They helped him lie down, and with the comfort of their presence, he was able to sleep. Days passed by. The police came through to determine Dietfried's alibi's, which were pretty good since he was in the hospital during the unfortunate events at the widows' homes. They asked him for any enemies that the widows might've had, and he didn't have an answer for the officers.

When the police were gone, Dietfried turned to Violet. "…Shouldn't you go home and get some rest? ….Come to think of it, isn't Claudia needing you at the office? How are you still here?"

Violet's expression didn't change, but she immediate refused to leave. "If I go, who will watch over you? KJ?" She shook her head. "I don't know him well, but… I suspect he is not… comfortable here. He twitches and looks out of the window constantly, and walks down the hallway whenever the opportunity presents itself. The police aren't sure if the attack is connected with the other violent acts going on around town. You aren't well enough to guard your own back." She stared at him pointedly.

He couldn't resist. "Well, now, I'm not going to complain about a lovely flower attending to me," he teased, leaning back on the bed with a weak smile. "Now if I could only get you in my bed instead of that chair, I could die a happy man."

To his great pleasure, she flushed, but her tongue was sharp and her expression unchanged as she replied. "If you keep that up, you'll definitely die. But die happy? That I'm not so sure about."

He laughed, but the action stressed his wounds, and soon he was wracked with a painful cough that left him gasping against his pillows, his hand grasping the covers as he fought to breathe. She kindly rubbed his upper-back, keeping her hands away from his wounds. She helped him drink water from a glass, then insisted he rest.

He fell into a fever-induced dream.

 _Dietfried wasn't sure how he knew he was dreaming, but the knowledge of it filled his entire being as he opened his eyes and took in the scene before him. He was back under the stars on top of the moving train they'd used to take the envoy of peace to Gardarik for the signing of the treaty. Violet was there, staring into his eyes as the soldier Isidor climbed back up to the train roof behind her, unnotice by either of them until his gun was pointed to kill. Diethart spotted the end of the barrel, and his training kicked in. He dove in front of her, weapon moving up to meet the enemy's, and in a flash of gunpowder, the soldier's life was forfeit. This gave the Brigadier General just enough time to pull himself into a steady hold on the trainside. Isidor pulled the trigger with a final twitch of his finger as he fell, and Violet moved to protect the only other eyes that shined like Gilbert's._

 _Diethard only had enough time to gasp in choking horror as he realized what she was doing, then the bullet had hit and bounced of her metal arms to blow the light and break a window, but caused no harm to her. The enemy Brigadier General fired more rounds, revealing more pieces of her automail beneath her dress sleeves. Diethard took it all in with widened eyes. He hadn't known about the loss of her arms._

 _He found himself thinking: The tool I discarded became Gilbert's pet. But after losing both of her arms, her master, and everything else in the world, there she was, standing there._

 _The enemy's gun clicked empty, so he tried to jump off the train, but Violet prevented him. As a result, the enemy dropped the broach he'd taken from her previously, and it soared through the air. Violet reached for it, but Diethard snatched it from midair– she would've missed it. He looked at it, recognizing the color, and threw it to her. Her relief was palpable. Her eyes lit up with the shine coming off the broach, and it seemed that some part of her was animated by the trinket's presence. She closed herself around it in relief._

 _She was so beautiful under the light of the stars, looking at her only precious possession so fondly. Unexpectedly, she looked up at him, and he was trapped there in the light of her gaze. This was where she gave him a heart-felt thanks previously, but the dream took on a dark tone, and the hair on his arms prickled with the evil smirk on her face. "You are not forgiven for your sins," she said coldly, as she reached behind her skirts and pulled out a gun. "Go. Join your fallen comrades at last." She aimed, and he stared at her wide-eyed. He whispered her name, her betrayal causing his heart to stop before the bullet crashed through it. He closed his eyes, and fell limply from the train…._

 _...into another dream._

 _It was so hot here. The battlefield was littered with bodies and blood. Carrion circled above, and many others feasted on the dead flesh of the soldiers. Dietfried cursed as he held a quickly-soaking cloth over the slashed throat of his comrade. "Come on, Lorenza," he demanded, pressing hard. "Don't you die on me!" The soldier opened his mouth, but only replied with a wet, gurgling sound. The light faded from his eyes, and a wave of grief took Dietfried's breath away. His breath came fast and hard, gulping down the sour air filled with the scent of rot and innards and the metallic waft of blood._

 _"Dietfried!," a woman's voice snapped behind him, and rough hands gripped his shoulders. "Stop hovering here! We've got to go!" Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he frowned at his partner. "But Zilly…."_

 _He remembered that she'd physically drug him out of that battlefield, forcing him to leave his dying men behind, shouting. "If you want to live, you've got to keep moving, Captain!" He knew that if she hadn't, he would have met his end there only thirty minutes later, when the bombs burst over the area, wiping the location out in one rain of fire. But, here, she just looked at him, and then she smiled._

 _"It's alright, Captain. You can join us now if you want." She walked around behind him and wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands encircling his wrists. She started dragging him down toward the ground, despite his struggling, and she laughed at his efforts to escape. "What, Dietfried? Have you decided to live, even with all of us awaiting you…?"_

 _Her hands and legs turned into ropes that dug in harshly against his skin, and his father's voice poured out over him. "You… you're crying…? I'll make you never want to cry again. I'll beat you until your tears are replaced by blood, and if I ever see you cry in public again…." The restraints tightened, and someone was calling his name…._

 _" **Dietfried**_ **!** "

His eyes snapped open, and he met Violet's worried eyes as a male nurse shoved half his body on top him and secured another strap. He realized his waist, one ankle, and nearly one wrist was in a leather strap connected to the bed. "Wait-!," he proclaimed, looking at the wrist that hadn't fully been secured yet. The level of panic in his voice startled him, but he didn't have the self-control needed to block it out yet. "Stop, _stop_." The nurse ignored him, and pulled the secured strap tight over his skin.

Dietfried's breath stopped a moment, and he had to fight the desire to thrash in an attempt to escape. That would only cause himself more damage than before anyway…. He gulped in air and shook his head. The nurse grabbed his other wrist, and Dietfried snarled at him. _"I refuse your care!,"_ he shouted into the man's face, desperation tinged with wrath. "You heard me - I refuse your care! Now, you can go get the doctor so I can tell him to his face, but you will _not_ tie me down like an animal while you do so!"

The nurse left him to undo the straps on his own, but wasted no time in fleeing the room to get the doctor. Breathing hard, Dietfried aggressively unlatched the leather from himself, struggling with the agony of his wounds and surgical incisions to reach the one at his ankle, but he had himself free in record time. Violet touched his forehead, then cupped his face in her hands. "...Are you fully awake, Dietfried…?," she confirmed, looking into his eyes. He calmed somewhat in the steadfast look in her gaze, and nodded. "I'm awake," he assured her, sweat beading on his brow. "Can you help me get dressed before they return with the doctor?"

They'd managed to get his pants on and were buttoning up his shirt over the bandages as his doctor came into his room looking frazzled, KJ strolling in behind him, his expression full of concern. Dietfried announced his intention to check out. The doctor, shocked, shook his head. "You're currently running a fever, and are not even close to the point that I would feel comfortable discharging-"

"I've refused further care," Dietfried insisted, then remembering that nearly another week had passed, and now his mother was fading fast. "I'm afraid I cannot wait any further," Dietfried said somberly. "I am the only remaining son of the lady Bougainvillea. She is on her deathbed, it seems, and I am her only family left. I cannot allow her to die alone."

The doctor stared at him, still shaking his head. "Unfortunate circumstances, sir, but ..."

"Doctor, might I have a word?," KJ interjected. "In private?" The doctor hesitated, then followed KJ out of the room. Minutes later, the doctor returned, KJ following behind him. "Very well, Mr. Bougainvillea. I will grant your discharge, but you must sign a waiver releasing myself and the hospital from any liability should your situation get worse, and I would advise you to return immediately if you should show any signs of infection." Dietfried agreed to these terms, and signed the necessary documentation. Hours later, he was in KJ's car with Violet sitting next to him. He could have been worlds away, for the distance between them. His mind was settled solely on his mother, but Violet's eyes were on him. She knew that seeing his mother was the official reason for leaving in such a rush, but the attempt to tie him down to the bed was what had truly set him off…. She pondered over this information as they traveled in silence.

They arrived at the Bougainvillea estate, and the nurse that had been attending his mother came running out to meet them. "Mr. Bougainvillea, please hurry. She's -"

Dietfried burst into a blur of movement, and Violet ran behind him. The house was a mass of colors that whisked by him, unnoticed and irrelevant. He threw open the door to his mother's room and froze. Violet didn't have time to stop so suddenly, and smacked into his back. He didn't budge even a little at the full brunt of her forward momentum. It was almost as if she'd slammed into a wall. She looked around his back to see what he saw.

His mother seemed so frail, lying in her bed. She looked like little more than a thin line of flesh stretched out over too much bone, skin so pale that he wondered if she'd passed away already. Violet looked up at his ashen face, then pushed him past the doorway. This was all he needed: he strode forward to her bedside, and knelt there, one knee on the floor, looking like a loyal subject swearing fealty to a queen. She barely stirred to look at him, the sound of her head turning amplified by the silence of the room. She smiled gently, reaching for him. He took her hand as KJ entered the room behind them.

"Hello, Mother," he said, voice deep with the beginnings of his grief.

"Why… Gilbert, I wasn't expecting you to be here," she whispered weakly. "Where… where is Dietfried?"

Violet, who had glanced up at KJ's entrance, watched KJ startle at this new name. She was puzzling over it even as she turned her gaze back to Dietfried's stricken expression.

 _Don't you recognize me, Mother?_ Dietfried's heart constricted painfully. He could've been selfish. He could have proclaimed he **was** Dietfried. He could've explained, yet again, that Gilbert was gone. He could have, but instead, he thought of how Gilbert spoke and held himself, then made them his own. "Dietfried… he's on his way, Mother. You really should save your strength to make it until he arrives..."

She shook her head. "I'm afraid I've failed your brother too many times already. I'm sure this time… will not be an exception…." She sighed, her voice barely a whisper. "Gilbert… you know I am so proud of you… right?" He brought her knuckles up to his lips and laid the barest of kisses there, nodding his affirmation. "But your brother… he's borne a special burden all of his life…. One that he kept you from. He won't tell it to you… but I must. You see… your father… was a cruel man. He… beat Dietfried… regularly… for imagined faults and failings…. He would literally beat emotions out of him…. Told him he was weak…. But Gilbert, he was the strongest of all of us…." Tears fell down her cheeks, her eyes closing. It was clear her strength was slowly fading away. "And I had no idea…. Please be sure to tell him…. Your father… came clean… many years later. He...was on his deathbed when he told me…. It explains… so much…. The burden he's always hidden from us… weighs so heavily on him. The hate he's always harbored…. I cannot blame him for it…. But… he didn't want us to think poorly of your father… so he said nothing… all this time."

"Really, Mother, please. I-"

"No. Gilbert, I need you to understand your brother better…. You two have been so distant from each other lately…." She coughed, and it was a terrible wracking sound that hurt Violet's ears. Violet looked sadly down at the floor, knowing she was intruding on their very private moment. "Dietfried… tried his best with the young Violet…," she continued. Dietfried's eyes slid to Violet, and she looked up at him, startled to have heard her name. She noticed a misting of his eyes, but still he did not cry. They shared a wide-eyed moment, before his mother started again. "But… he was struggling with memories of the war. He knew… his PTSD was in the way of her proper care…. So, he gave her to you… but loved her all his own way… the whole time. He loved her… enough to let her go. Enough to watch you two grow closer…. To keep his distance, while he worked out his triggers, and could care for her without pushing the emotions of the war on her…. Gilbert… I know you've come to love her greatly…. But it was... Dietfried who loved her first.… Please be gentle with him… knowing…."

By the end, she was barely moving her lips, and her life slipped away in a sigh before she finished her final message. Dietfried shuddered almost violently as a typhoon of emotion besieged him when the life left her open eyes. How…? How had she seen through him so completely? How was it that she had always managed to take the screaming in his soul -naught but a mangled mess of noise- and give it solid substance in words? He was so glad that Gilbert wasn't actually there to receive that message… but… it was almost worse that Violet herself had been present for such an intimate release of his soul's song.

Violet sensed her parting, her eyes averted from the private moment. When she felt that his mother was gone, she looked at Dietfried's shivering body as he knelt there, holding his mother's still hand against his forehead, eyes closed. Violet stepped quietly up to his side, casting only a brief glance at KJ, whose expression was a chaotic mess of amazement, wonder, sadness, and sympathy. Dietfried did not seem to notice her approach, and she hesitated there, her metal hand reaching out toward him. Would he find any comfort in her cold hands? She started to pull back, then committed to her decision. She wrapped her arms around his middle, and carefully drew herself up to press into his back, cautious of his wounds. The force of his shuddering left her vision shaking, so she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against him.

Dietfried had never had someone comfort him before. The foreign sensation of Violet pressed against his back was enough to draw his attention away from the still form of his mother. He even gently returned her limp hand to the bed, withdrawing his touch. She'd find it comforting no more, anyway….

"He is gone now," Violet said, and Dietfried was confused a moment. "That man can't hurt you anymore," she proclaimed, and he realized, a bit too late, she meant his father. "You didn't cry for the men I cut down in the war," she said, pressing harder into him. "You didn't cry for your friends who fell at your side when we fought together. You didn't cry when I left your side to fight for Gilbert. Nor did you cry when Gilbert was lost to us, nor for the widow and her family, which you cared for very much. Stop letting your abuser win. There's only so much sadness one man can hold and not drown in it.

"Even I, who has been called a tool, an emotionless Doll raised only to cut down men on the battlefield… even I found my breaking point, and have cried many times since the Battle of Intense. Grieve for your mother, Dietfried, please. At least let me lend you the strength to do that much."

He turned his upper body just slightly, and she relaxed her hold on him somewhat to allow for him to move. He looked at her from only inches away, his heart thudding in his chest. She both amazed and confused him, and he found himself drowning in the blue fire of her gaze. He shifted more, until she had her arms wrapped around his shoulders instead, and she sat almost in his lap, her body pressed against his chest. "Violet…," he breathed, leaning forward, his face close enough for their noses to brush against each other. She looked determined, serious, and not at all hesitant. He could feel the warmth of her body through her dress, almost burning him where they touched.

He took a breath meant to be steadying, but it was filled with a soft smell which reminded him of a cold winter night tinged with the earthly tang that came just after a fresh rain, and he realized that was just her natural scent. He remembered her smile, her concern, her protection, and her strength. He remembered their witty banter, her elusive smiles... and his heart nearly burst with an overwhelming warmth. He couldn't believe she was there, in his darkest hours, to _comfort_ him. Another type of weakness flooded over him, and he sighed. "I'm so sorry, Violet…," he whispered, looking away from her eyes.

She sounded confused when she said, "...Dietfried….Why ...are you _sorry_?" He cupped her face with his hands, and her eyes widened, but he didn't notice because his eyes were on her mouth.

"...Because I'm a selfish bastard," he half-groaned in reply, slowly closing the distance between them until his lips pressed into hers.


	13. Chapter 13

Her lips were so soft. Dietfried had kissed more than his fair share of women, but none of them made him feel like he'd swallowed a live bird, but this kiss left his stomach twirling. The moment felt so long, yet was so terribly short as he soaked in the feeling of closeness, the softness of her body despite her lingering athleticism from the war, and the warmth of her embrace. At last, yet too soon, he pulled back to check her reaction, she seemed frozen in place, back stiff, eyes wide, face an adorable shade of pink. She reached up to brush cold metal fingers against the warmth of her mouth where the taste of his lips still lingered, saying nothing. He stood, helping her to her feet as well, and turned to KJ, who gaped at him from the other side of the room.

"I need to… start funeral preparations," he said softly, turning back to Violet, hoping she would say something. _Do_ something…. But she just stood there with her hand at her mouth. Feeling the least confident he'd ever been, he gave her a half-bow and left her there. KJ followed behind him, and even his face was a bit pink from having witnessed the scene.

Dietfried felt that he'd been a terrible fool. KJ seemed to pick up on his mood, and he cleared his throat. "Why does your back seem to hold itself as if you've been… defeated?," he asked Dietfried, observant as always. "I would've thought you'd be over the moon happy that she didn't slap you with those heavy-duty hands of hers."

Dietfried shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment as his brow furrowed. "KJ…. I'm such an idiot." There was a thick sorrow to his voice, and KJ was very alarmed. "That kiss…. I should've…." He gave a rough shake of his head as they pulled up at the telephone. "...Never mind. Forget it." He picked up the receiver and began dialing the necessary numbers for others to come and prepare his mother for burial.

He took great pains to ensure he was not alone with Violet for the next few days. He often felt her eyes following him as he gave orders to the house staff and directions for the upcoming funeral. The viewing came and went, his mother's will was read, and then the funeral day arrived. Her body was going to be placed right next to the grave they'd made for Gilbert. The ceremony was to be completed outdoors. It was past noon, but his stomach never rumbled, although he hadn't even eaten breakfast that morning. He'd hardly eaten at all the last few days.

The morning had gone by in a blur of sympathetic faces, condolences, meaningless chatter, and flowers that smelled like the death they represented. He was exhausted enough that he didn't dare simply stand during the funeral. He placed himself by the tree on the opposite side of the grave site, closer to Gilbert's memorial than to the freshly dug ground that would act as his mother's final resting place. He'd only just walked out there, but his breath was coming fast as if he'd been running. Maybe his lungs were having some difficulty with the wintry air, but it was a strange sensation for him.

As the ceremony began, Dietfried found himself chilled, although it wasn't terribly cold out. The priest said his blessings over the casket, and KJ came to stand beside him, but Dietfried hardly noticed, trapped in his determination to prevent his teeth from chattering. His chill had developed into full blown shivering, so much so that KJ stared at him with no small amount of worry in his unusually bright eyes. The workers began to pile dirt back into the grave after lowering in the casket. When the burial was complete, KJ asked Dietfried for a moment of his time. Dietfried followed him into the mansion, and KJ pulled him into the nearest room, closing the door behind him.

"Take off your shirt," KJ said, glaring with forceful demand in his expression. Startled, Dietfried didn't move. "What?," he asked, placing his hands protectively against the buttons of his shirt. "Why…?"

"Take. Off. Your. Shirt," KJ demanded again, grabbing a handful of the fabric. "If you don't I'm going to rip that cloth right off you," he swore just as Violet entered the room silently. "I need it off you. Right. Now." She startled, looking between the two men, feeling awkward at her invasion of their… moment?

"D… Don't say it like that! Someone is going to hear you and misinterpret…." Dietfried protested as he sat on a chair to the side, staring quizzically at his friend, but hesitantly unbuttoned his shirt as he requested, baring the bandages around his chest and stomach that covered the wounds from the shooting and ensuing surgeries. KJ leaned over, bending at his waist to allow his deft fingers began to slide around his chest, and Violet began to sweat a bit. Was she witnessing… a lover's moment? Had she mistaken KJ's identity as a friend? Her heart sped up, and she froze, staring like an animal caught in a predator's direct, hungry gaze. "Um… What are you doing, KJ?," Dietfried asked, sounding as befuddled as Violet's hazy thoughts.

The seriousness in KJ's voice had her attention twirling back, embarrassment shoved aside. "You've hardly eaten anything in days, claiming to not be hungry. You're shivering. Your body is _hot_. I could _feel_ it when standing several feet from you." KJ looked up at Dietfried, then, examining his face. "You're pale, and obviously exhausted. You were barely able to stand outside. I thought for sure one of these had become infected, but… the incisions and bullet wounds all seem fine." He closed Dietfried's shirt, moving back to stand upright again, and crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Have you been coughing up anything?"

Dietfried shook his head, and KJ turned toward the door, then spotted her. "Oh, Violet."

She lifted her hands in a universal 'I'm unarmed' gesture. "Sorry for intruding," she said as deadpan as she could manage, although her voice shook ever so slightly.

KJ tilted his head to the side slightly. "What...? No, I'm glad you're here…." He uncrossed his arms and walked over to her so they could speak so softly that Dietfried couldn't overhear. He was sure KJ was asking her to help keep a watch over him and instructing her on what to notify him of if the symptoms were exacerbated. Dietfried allowed himself to not worry over it, and took his time re-positioning his shirt. As he buttoned his cuffs, the other two had completed their secret conversation and he was ready to go back and face the mass of people that would expect him to feed them now. The funeral felt less like a place for him to grieve and more like a business meeting, with expectant faces and uninteresting talks.

By the time the final guest had parted, Dietfried was barely attentive enough to be polite. Exhausted beyond measure, he dumped his frame into an arm chair with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "Finally…," he whispered to himself… just before the doorbell rang. Violet almost smiled at his obvious dread. The waitstaff had already gone for the night, leaving only the three of them to see to the guest. "I'll see who that is," she said, heading to the front door, and soon returned with Lieutenant Jefferies in tow. The Lieutenant was in his full dress-whites, hat in hand out of respect for the deceased Lady of the Bougainvillea house. His brown hair was so closely cropped to his head that Dietfried could see more scalp than hair. His eyes seemed so dark they were nearly black in the dim room, and when they locked on Dietfried's, they widened slightly.

"I wasn't expecting to find you with old war tools, Bougainvillea," he said in his deep rumbling voice, with a sliding glance at Violet that vibrated with his disapproval. "What happened to your hair, man? You didn't ever have it that short while working for me."

"Long story," Dietfried said, pinching the bridge of his nose again, weary. "And please, just go right back out my door if you've only come to insult my guests," he snapped. "If you'll put your prejudices away for a while, you're welcome to come in, sit down, and have some whiskey." Dietfried rose and fixed his old boss a glass of straight whiskey, no ice, just as his superior officer had always taken it. He offered the glass as an encouragement to behave. The Lieutenant snorted and took the glass, the movement almost begrudging. He wasn't happy about behaving, but he would. Dietfried nodded.

"Welcome, then. Thank you for coming to pay your respects, my old friend." Dietfried said, sitting once more in the arm chair. "I would've thought you were watching me less thoroughly now that I'm no longer a part of the Navy."

"Now, now, Dietfried. You, of all people, know that when you're out of the Navy, be you dead or alive, you're never out of the family. Please allow me to formally offer my condolences. Your mother was a great lady, and never could you find a better person to see into the very heart of another."

Dietfried nodded. "I'm rather surprised you say so, since her dislike of you kept you from spending ample time within my home," he half-teased.

Jefferies pretended to be injured by his prodding. He placed his hand on his chest, fingers splayed flat, and looked sharply away. "A fact that I still cannot fathom! What's not to like? I've got allll this." He made a general gesture down the length of his body, then shook his head. Then he sobered, and Dietfried's good humor instantly fled with the change in the Lieutenant.

"...But you did not just come to offer condolences, have you?," Dietfried demanded. "Something's happened, then?"

Jefferies nodded. "There have been insinuations that the illegal weapons trade, the violent attacks throughout town, and an extremist faction wanting to resurrect the old monarchy are all connected…. And there are whispers that your family line is the one they want as the new kingship, since you're one of the oldest blood lines of our country. I imagine you might be the target of some… interesting groups in the near future. I felt that you should be properly warned. Keep your eyes open." Dietfried nodded, and thanked him for the news, keeping his face carefully neutral. They talked and joked around a bit more, but it was not long before Jefferies departed, leaving Dietfried to ponder over the interesting information.

KJ checked Dietfried's temperature, and seemed horrified by the number. Then, like a fretting mother hen, KJ insisted that he take some medication and go straight to bed. When Dietfried was tucked into bed, KJ left, but Violet hovered for a bit longer. She sat at his bedside, thinking over the day. She cast a sideways glance at Dietfried, Gilbert's words in her mind.

 _Violet Evergarden. You won't be a tool, but someone worthy of that name._

Violet leaned against the bed railing, peering over her shoulder at Dietfried. "Do… do you think I'm a woman worthy of my name?" Dietfried made a serious sound, and covered his eyes with an arm.

"Trying to take advantage of my drugged state, are you…? Tch…. Scared I wouldn't give you a direct answer fully sober?" He sighed. "I don't know about you being worthy of your name or not. I think a name is just a name. There is no power in it," he stated honestly, but he was unable to see Violet's disappointment from behind his arm. "What I _can_ tell you that all of the people who come into contact with you are changed for the better. I believe with all of my being that you make the world take on a special shimmer that leaves all of us looking at the same world, which we'd thought of as dark and dingy yesterday, and wonder at how it now sparkles." He peeked out at her by making a slight adjustment of his arm.

She looked at him, tilting her head slightly to the side. "That is what I would expect a profession of love to sound like."

He shook his head. "Nope, that would be an incredibly cowardly and indirect method to utilize. A real man says these things outright. 'I'm in love with you Violet Evergarden. You dazzle my world and have thoroughly destroyed my every defense against you. You create a devotion in me that I have tried to shake for years and years, to no avail. I am ruined for other women, for they are pale in comparison to your light. I've fought so hard to keep my freedom, yet when I know you are sad, I want to be by your side. When you're happy, I want to be present to see your smile and give you reasons to smile with greater abundance. I want to see your blank neutrality to burn away under the weight of passion. I want to become one of the reasons you are overtaken by your passion.'…. _That's_ what a love profession sounds like." Here, he paused to cover his eyes back up.

"...I don't expect an answer. I don't expect you to fall into my arms and change your entire life to accommodate my sudden hostile takeover. I don't expect you to do anything. You've listened to me, so now let's move forward. I know you're awaiting his return, just the same as I am. I didn't tell you in the hopes of gaining anything…."

Violet was silent a long moment, and when she spoke, there was a shake to her voice that Dietfried had never heard before. He moved his arm just enough to look at her again, starting to feel lethargic from the effects of the medication. "I've awaited Gilbert for four years…. Many seasons have passed without him. I did not fully understand love when he proclaimed it to me that day. I don't see what life would be like upon his return. If he walked through this door, right now, I would be happy to see him. I might even cry, knowing at long last that he was safe….

"But…. Four years without word?" She shook her head. "If he were alive all that time, but decided to let us believe he was dead… would be a cruelty I would rather not think of attributing to the Gilbert I love." Dietfried flinched at the current tense of that word: _love._ "As much as I've longed to see his face, I find… I find myself thinking more often of a future where he does not come into it… of accepting that he has removed himself from my path, for whatever reason."

She didn't touch him, but he felt the weight of her intentions when she stared at him again. "I have met many people since Gilbert vanished that have helped me find out what loving someone means. I understand it much better now than when I was a soldier, and so I've reanalyzed my past with this new perspective.

"Dietfried… You have been by my side in every state of being: both as a child soldier who didn't value life, and as I am now. We've fought side by side, watched over each other, and have taken many hits together. You never once asked me to change myself, but let me grow in my own way. You forced yourself to grow too, so that you could keep pace with who I became. I watched you be less selfish and more selfless. I've seen you struggle through your PTSD in a way that didn't harm others, and you've helped me get past barriers to my self growth too. We've grieved Gilbert together, even while holding out hope that he would come back to us.

"You forgave me of the slaughter of your men. You have been nothing but steadfast, yet not boastful of your kindnesses. You have been patient as I have moved past my hopes of being Gilbert's bride. You have protected me and my best interests, watched me as I grew, and supported me in your own way. If that is not truly love, then I do not know what could better define it." She put her hand to her chest, although she couldn't feel the flutter of her heartbeat with her metal fingers. "I still do not know if this feeling is truly love… but I want to find out. I do not know what true passion feels like, but I want to try to awaken it… together. I want you to show it to me through your own eyes, Dietfried. But… let's take it slow. I am new to all of this, and I don't want to drown before I learn to swim."

He couldn't believe she had just accepted him. The world was blurring around the edges as the medicine sucked him into a forced sleep, but he had enough energy to nod his agreement, then dazzle her world with a smile that spoke of carnal promises, total abandon, and joy. Then he was asleep, dragged forcibly down and away from Violet. She watched the relaxing of his features, his hand falling down to the bed, yet still stretched out, as if reaching for her. She placed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then departed.

Some part of her wondered if she would regret her words. The other part was awash in a Cheshire cat's smile, for it had gotten the cream it so rightly deserved.


	14. Chapter 14

_This sleep was like the thick mud he'd waded through so many times to get from his Naval ship onto the shore of enemy territory. He could hear his boots squelch, felt the sucking of the knee-deep muck. He slithered quietly through the waist-high weeds that attached to the first steps of solid ground, and could feel his soldiers around him as they moved into position. He knew that, nearby, his tool – 'No' he thought_ _forcefully_ _, '_ _She is_ _ **Violet**_ _, now...' – crept beside him in the darkness, just awaiting his word for attack. She had her large, silver battle ax at the ready, and her liquid blue eyes glowed with her own ferocity._

 _They had surrounded the enemy camp. Most of the soldiers slept within their tents,_ _unaware of their impending doom. A few sentries stood across the parameter, but they felt safe. This location was supposed to be hidden, here on this tiny island rumored to be haunted. The landscape provided total privacy, and the legend surrounding the place added to its appeal for the soldiers. Dietfried glanced at Violet as he held up an arm. All of his soldiers had eyes on him, and she was no exception. She reminded him of a leopard queen, ready to crush something in her powerful jaws, her body lithe -little more than muscle and sinew. She had mud splattered across her face from their trek to this location,_ _her hair wind-blown,_ _and it_ _all_ _added to her wild appearance._

 _He lowered his arm, and they all moved in._

 _It wasn't long before the camp erupted in screams, the sounds of death,_ _and_ _the groans of the dying. Violet charged forward and had slaughtered several people, but in her rush to kill she did not see the tell tale signs of a pit trap_ _just in_ _front of her. Dietfried shouted at her to watch out, but she either did not hear or did not realize he was speaking to her. He darted forward with a curse, lunged, landing on his stomach with his arm outstretched, only just managing to catch her by her uniform top on her way down into the belly of the pit. She dangled there with a blank expression that unnerved him, turning just her head to look back at him_ _rather than the spikes of possible demise below her_ _. He wasn't sure if she trusted him so completely that she was not nervous, or if she did not give a damn about life._

 _He hoisted her back over the edge and threw her to safety just as an enemy appeared above him with sword raised. He rolled out of the way of its strike, but received a cut on his right hip from the dodge. The delay to save Violet had cost him, but he found the price worth paying. He didn't get the chance to pay back the blow, because Violet's ax was swiftly embedded into the soldier's skull. The body fell, and she recovered her weapon without hesitation, then she was off to the next victim._

 _She was like a war goddess, bestowed on him to ensure his victory._

 _Dietfried turned, sword upraised, as he engaged in further battle. Movement to his right caught his attention, and he saw Jefferies fighting there. As he felled an enemy, Dietfried saw him watched the girl with a lustful gleam in his eyes, and Dietfried made a mental note to never allow them to be alone together._ _It was in that moment that Dietfried started to plan Violet's transfer to Gilbert._ _He wasn't the only one who_ _had_ _noticed, because Zilly made a frustrated sound and stepped into Jefferies' line of sight, thus blocking Violet from his gaze. He snarled at her, and she made as sassing movement with her hand and hip._

 _"Trust me, that did_ _ **not**_ _go well for the last crew," she snipped at Jefferies. "Keep your mind on the battle_ _and out of_ _your pants."_

 _The dream sort of paused in that moment of war. Their bodies just seemed to stop moving: even those falling down, lifeless. Only Dietfried and Jefferies seemed unaffected by this eerie stillness. The two men looked at each other, and a fierce, mad smile transfigured Jefferies' face into something wicked indeed. Dietfried watched the change with mounting horror, and knew that something terrible was about to spill from that grotesque expression._

 _"That was the only reason I needed," Jefferies hissed, his eyes catching the blaze of the camp fire nearby. "As soon as the opportunity arose, I set her up to be in the middle of that god-forsaken battle. Then… I tied her to the mast and sent her sailing to her fiery doom and watery grave."_ _As he told that story, Dietfried could practically see the memory in his dark eyes: Zilly fighting, her ship abandoned by Jefferies' design, he attacks her and ties her to the mast and steers her toward her blazing end, her eyes staring at him in accusatory rage while her men spin a tale of her heroics to cover up the murder. 'It was as I thought…,' Dietfried pondered as the truth shook him. 'She'd had plenty of time to abandon ship,_ _after all_ _…'_

 _"I get what I want, Bougainvillea," Jefferies proclaimed, his voice darkening to a gravely snarl. "And what I want, is to play with that tool until its broken and bleeding, and then I'm going to kill it."_ _The vision faded into darkness. The chiming sound of sword against sword echoed in the stillness._ _Blood splattered onto Dietfried's face, and Violet screamed in pain._

Dietfried jerked upright, instantly awake, but his wounds protested the sudden use of his muscles. Sweat dripped off of him, his heart thudding in a thunderous dance within his chest. It usually took much more than a nightmare to spook him, but there was something so...real about the whole thing. There was a deep foreboding in his gut, and he was sure that he needed to check the Navy records and figure out if Jefferies was stationed anywhere near Zilly's last battle.

Before he could rationalize himself out of it, he called Griff, who greeted him like an old friend in a cheerful demeanor. Dietfried filled him in, then advised him to proceed with the investigation with supreme caution and subtlety, to tell only those he absolutely trusted. Griff was somber as he agreed: he had liked Zilly, as most of his crew had. "...And Griff?," Dietfried added just as they were closing up the conversation. "...Please be careful. Watch your back, and call me if you need backup." Griff agreed, and then Dietfried hung up, deciding to complete some business paperwork next.

When he entered his office, Dietfried found himself too frazzled to focus on anything. He would start to read a document, then his mind would wander. Occasionally he would find himself pacing the rooms, hands clasped behind his back, mind whirling. When he startled out of his thoughts, he would reach up to run his hands through his hair, but would freeze when he felt the shortness of it. The action wound ground him enough to sit and pretend he'd decided to dedicate his time to true progress, but he would eventually give way, and fall into his thoughts of the past.

The truth of the matter was, when Dietfried was growing into a man, Jefferies had acted as more of a father figure to him than the head of the Bougainvillea household ever tried to be. It had been him that explained the wiles of women, supported him when he was nursing a wounded heart, showed him how to celebrate life and all of its sorrows, and him who Dietfried spent the day with while his own father's funeral was occurring. He'd chosen the Navy, some part due to the desire to blaze his own trail and not utilize his family name to progress, and the other part because Jefferies had inspired him to the Navy's cause.

But Dietfried saw Jefferies differently when Violet came into his life…. Dietfried remembered showing Violet to Jefferies for the first time, and how intrigued the man had been to learn of her unmatched killing abilities. He was with him as Jefferies crafted the tale to the upper brass, and he was there was Jefferies insisted that Dietfried do extensive field testing for the tool. He had completely trusted the man then, and had even taken on the dehumanization of Violet from him…. Dietfried remembered watching her every move, being overly cautious to ensure she never was behind him, where she could attack him. He had been terrified of her.

Then, he remembered the only battle that he'd ever lost. He hesitated to call it a battle: it was more of a massacre. Violet had not been at that battle: she'd surely be dead if she had been. So terrible were their odds…. Zilly had forced him away from his dead men, he remembered the first severe bouts of PTSD that he'd had when he'd returned. So many blood-soaked night terrors he'd endured…. But the first one had to have been the worst of all.

He'd awoken, sweating and terrified. Violet had been there, and she stared at him, her head cocked sideways. She recognized this was unusual behavior, but she did not understand. He didn't know for sure that she would even understand, but he told her of the horror of the battle. She did not react, beyond setting up to guard him through the night. He hadn't expected anything of her, yet she sacrificed a night of sleep so that he could relax once more.

That thought led to more as his memories swirled, and Dietfried was fully lost to them.

 _The night was dark, and Dietfried's sleep was deep. Still, when Violet's small hand touched his shoulder, he snapped awake in an instant. He scanned the tent for signs of danger or intrusion, but found nothing, then he looked to her. She placed a finger over her lips, her other hand hanging at her side holding her battle ax._ _The sound of footsteps approached, and there was determination within the soft thud of soles hitting the ground. Violet hid behind the flaps to the tent, and Dietfried waited._

 _It wasn't long before a man entered the tent, and Dietfried could see the whites of his eyes flashing in the dim light. The rest of his features were hidden in the darkness. Dietfried sat up in his cot, glad he'd slept in his uniform. He always felt more confident when he had on pants and needed to face someone down. His lance was always in bed with him, and he had a sword propped up on the softness of the tent wall an arm's length away. It would appear as if he were unarmed, and he could take the intruder by surprise should he mean harm._

 _Dietfried spoke into the silence, his grim whisper seeming to echo loudly in the tent. "State your business," he said,_ _strands of danger and warning in his voice._

 _The man tensed, startled, then came forward to kneel by his bedside. "Sir, there have been reports of a woman wandering the camp. She wears the typical garb of the Agassi Assassins. We think you-" Something tore through the tent, then, and a small projectile landed in the neck of his soldier. There was a terrible gargling sound, then the man fell into a seizure and promptly died right there on the ground. "Poisoned dart," Dietfried whispered to Violet, but when he looked up she was missing. He cursed, grabbed his lance, and darted out of the tent. He hissed for her to return, but received no reply. He skittered through the darkness, headed for the direction the dart had been thrown from, but found nothing there._

 _He heard a skirmish in the trees, then a distinct 'thud', followed by the sound of something being dragged through the underbrush. Moments later, Violet emerged from the bushes, dragging the body of the assassin_ _behind her small form_ _. Unconscious_ _or dead, Dietfried couldn't tell_ _in the darkness of night_ _. He stood, amazed, as he watched her approach him. She looked like a war goddess let loose. Her eyes were so bright under the light of the moon, as if she had captured its light and claimed it for her own. He stood, frozen, as she awaited for him to decide what do to with the assassin, unable to think of anything save her._

So many times, he'd seen her approach with dread in his stomach and hate in his heart, but that was the first moment he'd looked into her eyes, and hadn't seen the death of his crew members on that fateful island. That might have been the moment he'd fallen in love with her. Dietfried couldn't help but think that would be a ridiculous moment to recount to family. He could just imagine someone asking for the story of how they fell in love, and the looks on their face when he told them of that moment. Awkward….

The next battle was the one where they attacked the camp in the night, where he'd rescued her from the pit trap, and he'd seen Jefferies' lust for Violet. He puzzled over what he could do to keep her safe the whole next night, and was grateful to receive a missive advising of Gilbert's promotion to Major the next morning. He was granted time off for the officiating of his brother's title, and he knew what he'd had to do.

Realizing he was getting nothing done, Dietfried looked to the clock only to see that it was once more bed time. He'd wasted the whole day. Dismayed, he went to bed, only to awaken the next morning feeling flustered as he agonized over the possibility of Jefferies' insanity. Dietfried again decided to work of some steam in his office. He made quick work of prepping for the day, then strode down the corridor with his guts in a knot. Troubled as he was, he did not realize the door to his study was closed, when he had last left it open. He utterly failed to realize that this change could not have possibly been due to the waitstaff's recent entry nor exit since it was barely yet dawn, and they had not yet arrived for the workday. It wasn't until he discovered a surprise on his desk that he forced himself into the mental state where this type of clarity was possible. Then, he came to all of the above realizations, and recognized someone had been in the room when this fact was as obvious as his nose. On the center of his desk there was a plain piece of paper with no writing on it, only a wax seal stamped in the center of the page. He frowned and picked it up, examining it further. He gasped, eyes widening in recognition. The next moments had him running full tilt toward C.H. Postal Company.

KJ had just stepped up to the door to knock when Dietfried threw the door open and came charging out. KJ gave a startled shout, but reflexes kicked in as they crashed into each other. KJ grabbed Dietfried's waist, and when Dietfried realized they were headed toward the stairs with terrible force, he used his momentum to throw them into a sideways twist that left them both on the ground on their sides, but otherwise unharmed at the base of the stairs. KJ released him with a breathless laugh. "Well, good morning…."

"Nice reflexes," Dietfried said, jumping to his feet and helping up his friend, then he was running for his car. "Get in, now!" KJ followed him, puzzled, yet there was no hesitation to his obedience. "What has you so excited?," KJ asked, closing the car door.

"The seal of the Secret Service!," Dietfried half-shouted, but that was just a jumble of words to KJ, who quietly went along with his friend. He'd find out, he supposed, what the fuss was about…. Within moments, they were whirling into a parking area and bursting through C.H. Postal's doors. In a full run, Dietfried's feet took him straight to Violet's room. He didn't bother knocking, he just burst in to find her standing by the window, thankfully clothed. He dashed in, grabbed her hand, and started hauling her down the hallway. She glanced at KJ, who shrugged, and following after them.

"Dietfried, what…?" Violet started, then they were running, and she couldn't finish her question. They burst as a group into Claudia's office, where the red-headed bastard sat behind his desk, calmly talking to the man before him. Dietfried skidded to a halt, staring at the back of the man that seemed so familiar. He'd seen it so many times over the years, and knew it better than his own. He had seen those shoulders as a gangly child, and he'd watched that back broaden into a man's width and strength. Now, there was an extra heaviness to the set of those shoulders he hadn't seen before, and something about the way he stood made Dietfried think his right arm was heavier than the left.

The truth was unmistakable: this man before them was none other than Gilbert Bougainvillea. And Claudia didn't even seem surprised. There was a terrible twisting in Dietfried's stomach, and he moved out from the door to the back of the room, keeping himself far from the room's two inhabitants. Violet and KJ followed him in, and he heard Violet gasp.

"Gilbert!," KJ called happily, dashing forward to pound on that back with affection. "Good to see you, buddy." Gilbert looked over at him, and nodded reservedly. "Hello, KJ," he said softly, his voice as smooth and gentle as it had always been. Violet looked at Gilbert's back, her expression stricken. She looked at Dietfried, who looked between KJ and Gilbert with confusion. She watched him become startled, and that expression sharpened to shock, which collapsed into bitter certainty, then lit up with firey anguish that hardened to anger. She was amazed at the amount of raw emotion he managed to pour into his voice when he said: " _Gil."_

Gilbert tensed, a slow tightening in the muscles of his back, then -slowly- he turned around. Violet felt trapped in the moment, frozen to the place her feet had planted. She saw him turn to her, but he only acknowledged her with a guarded expression and a brief glance, before moving on to Dietfried. There was an eye patch over his right eye now, and a weariness around the edges of his eyes. The brothers stood there, tension flowing between them. The barest relieved smile tugged up the edges of Gilbert's mouth. "It's been too long, brother."

An echo of relief flickered across Dietfried's face, then the anger was back to swallow up all else, but even that was flooded over by a dulled mask of blankness. Violet was unable to read that stone-wall face, and she looked back to Gilbert, soaking in his presence. _He's alive…._ He was alive this whole time, and never said a word. Never let them know…. Her chest felt like it was on fire, with the burn of her emotions. Alive, just as she had made herself no longer accessible to him.

 _Alive… just when Violet had agreed to try life with him._ Grief welled up in Dietfried so fiercely that he could not contain it. Grief, because the happiness he was sure that would be awaiting him tomorrow was snatched away before he could truly glory in its beauty. Despite all of this, his feet were moving of their own accord, and then he was embracing his brother in a most uncommon display of affection. Even if this meant Violet left his side to once more be at Gilbert's… even if his life was about to change forever, he was glad that Gilbert was alive. He wanted to rage at his brother, demanded where the hell he'd been. He wanted to shake him and tell him how hard it'd been without him. He wanted to demand the reason why he'd made them think he was dead…. But he just held his brother, and his heart cried, if not his eyes.

Dietfried's hug was brief. He didn't linger in his brother's arms, suddenly beyond what he could handle. His voice was ragged as he turned to Claudia, betrayal embittering his tongue. "You knew," he accused, and saw the flinch around Claudia's eyes. "And yet, you allowed us to believe…." He gave an abrupt shake of his head, and turned to leave. Violet's hand on his arm stayed him briefly. He addressed Gilbert then, keeping his back turned away from his brother. "I assume there's a good explanation for all of this, and I expect to hear every detail…. Of course, you are welcome in the family estate still, if you don't have somewhere else you've been hovering for nearly five years." His tone darkened. "But right now…. I cannot stomach any of you."

Dietfried left. Violet looked at Gilbert, and was lost for a moment in the color of his one remaining eye. She remembered the job she'd taken on, and knew she needed to advise Dietfried of it. She hesitated only a moment, then ran down the hallway. "Dietfried!," she called out. "Wait!" He paused at the bottom of the stairway, and the raw look in his eyes stole her breath away. She froze, her words fleeing from her mind.

She recognized that there was suddenly a rift open between them, brought on by Gilbert's survival. She could feel it, yet she wasn't sure how to breach it in that one terrible moment. She opened her mouth, but couldn't get sound to emerge. Her throat felt tight, and she felt like crying. There was so much to that look in Dietfried's eyes…. He turned his eyes to the floor so that she couldn't fall into them anymore. "Violet…." Her name was like a memorial on his lips, as if he assumed already that he'd lost her. Then, he was gone, and she was frozen in place.


	15. Chapter 15

Dietfried was pouting, and he knew it.

It was well past ten in the morning, and he was still in his silk pajamas, lounging in his room. His phone indicated about twelve missed calls from KJ, but he simply didn't want to talk to him -or anyone- at that moment. He felt like life had hit him a little too hard, and he needed a little time to recover his breath. He had ignored the mailman when some letters were stuck in through the small flap on his front door. He kept telling himself he wanted to be alone, but another part of him was waiting for his brother to come home.

It was most disappointing when he didn't.

With a heaving sigh, Dietfried got up, bathed, dressed, and prepared for his day. Just as he was putting on his shoes, he glanced toward the front door and spotted the mail in the floor. He picked up one of the off-white envelopes, the paper whispering between his fingers. He didn't recognize the handwriting on it, but still opened it to find a very short note on a scrap piece of paper. All it said was: _You were right. G._ He puzzled over the message. There was no return address, or other information provided to provide a point of reference…. He bent his head closer to check for other signs of tampering, but spotted Violet's handwriting on one of the other envelopes. His heart did a great gallop, and he froze, staring at the little parcel like it would transform into a lion and devour him. Then, he dove for it like a man starved, reaching for what he thought would be his last meal. He ripped into the envelope and read the letter, his heart aflutter the entire time his eyes flew across the paper.

 _She still wants to try._ Joy. Such a short word for a feeling that brought light to his very essence. He felt like he could charge down the street, jump up, and fly. _She still wants to try!_ He felt his face break with a big, stupid grin, and then the front door opened, and then he balked at his brother, who stood in the doorway looking like an enraged beast. His anger radiated off of him so thickly that Dietfried imagined he could see an angry red light radiating off of him.

"You _kissed_ Violet?!," Gilbert demanded, advancing into the building as if he intended to bash Dietfried's skull in. Dietfried straightened to his full height, tucking the letter into his pants pocket, and gave Gilbert his full attention. He didn't flinch when his brother gripped him by the collar of his shirt, a large portion of the silky top crumpled under his grip. Dietfried met his brother's one remaining eye, which glowed with emotion. It was the most passionate that Dietfried had ever seen him, and the fact that it was over such a small thing… it was kind of funny. He felt the corner of his own mouth twitch, and then KJ came toddling in, closing the front door behind him.

"Now, now, guys…," KJ said, exasperated. "Is this really _necessary_?"

Gilbert snarled, and Dietfried felt happiness coil in his chest like a lap cat curling up on its favorite person. It'd been since childhood since such a bold expression full of emotion had crossed Gil's face…. This place truly felt like home again, although nothing had changed except that his brother was back. Dietfried forced his expression into blankness, and he nodded. "I've done more than just that," he answered coyly. When Gilbert opened his mouth -maybe to say something scathing- Dietfried continued. "You had been dead to us for four years, Gil," Dietfried reminded him gently. He could have yelled at his brother for the injustice he'd given them. He could've snarled back and landed the first punch. They could've had a knock-down, drag-out fight. But Dietfried knew the pain behind Gil's anger was tangible, and he needed kindness instead. "Maybe if you'd acted like a typical boyfriend and wrote home every now and then, I'd have kept my distance. If you'd allowed us **any** insight into your livelihood, there would've been no room for me in her heart." Gil's face changed, contorting first through jealousy, anger, then grief. "But you chose not to. For whatever reason, you did not tell us. Four years…. That's a long time, brother."

Dietfried reached out and touched Gilbert's shoulder. "I cannot help that I love her. Nor will I apologize for my advances. You were _**dead**_ …. But there _is_ still hope for your relationship with her. And if the circumstances had been different, I would've never challenged you in this. But, Gil, I will not step back. I will not give in. I will try – wholly, sincerely, and without holding back. So you do your best, and I'll do mine. And Violet – let her do what makes her happy. Don't you think that's the way we could best show our affections?"

Gilbert pulled away, staring at Dietfried like he'd grown another head. Gone was the anger, and befuddlement stole its place. His face seemed to say: 'Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Dietfried?' It was almost comical, but Dietfried managed to keep a straight face. It wouldn't do to laugh now and destroy the thoughtfulness he'd instilled suddenly on Gil. Dietfried let his hand drop away from his brother's shoulder, and KJ made a happy sound. "Great! Now that this is over and done…. How about a story!"

Dietfried gaped at KJ, eyebrows raised. "…. Are you joking?"

KJ shook his head. "I need to tell you of how Gilbert and I became acquainted…."

The tale gave Dietfried more than one suspicion about his new friend, but he withheld his thoughts. He replayed their words in his mind, analyzing what the two of them had said to determine the entirety of the story.

 _Gilbert_ _was sure she was dead, lying there at the bottom of_ _the_ _cathedral stairway,_ _drenched in blood and rubble from the explosion, her arms detached and useless elsewhere,_ _her body freely bleeding from the open wounds_ _. He choked on his grief as he fumbled to make his limbs move_ _to obey him; s_ _he might yet live, and he had to find help for her_ _._ _His right arm hung useless at his side, dragging along the ground as the rest of him struggled over the debris toward help._ _He never saw her as a tool. She was a_ _normal_ _girl – his girl._ _That was his constant chorus as he kept progressing, slipping on the_ _rubble_ _and his own blood as he tried to get to the cavalry. His vision was fuzzing around the edges, and he grit his teeth in frustration, only to find his vision blurring with tears that fell haphazardly down his_ _left_ _cheek,_ _while hot liquid poured down his right_ _where his eye was leaking_ _in a bloody_ _mirror_ _of his tears._ _Just as hope was beginning to fade, h_ _e spotted someone, and reached out, desperation for Violet energizing him._ _This was his_ _last_ _chance_ _to get her help. Through the blackened curtain of his vision, someone_ _grabbed him_ _, and Gilbert succumbed to the darkness._

 _KJ_ _had only just managed to survive the explosion himself. Pure luck alone had placed him underneath the stairs, where he'd been hidden for the initial chaos caused by the invasion, and then around the corner to the exterior of the building, opposite from the explosion that had taken out a huge part of Intense's walls. He saw the man crawling from the debris, recognizing him as a soldier. KJ_ _looked back toward the camp he'd_ _just_ _escaped, and knew that if he took the injured man there that he would surely be tortured and killed for the desecration of Intense's cathedral. The smoke had yet to clear from the explosion, and he hefted the unconscious soldier_ _onto his_ _shoulder_ _, then took off into the night with the chaos as their cover._

 _There was much work to be done to save the soldier's life, and KJ did not have the resources to accomplish this task. With this in mind, he quickly traversed the mountainous crags of the Mother Goddess' Spine with feet sure from years of residence near it. He kept by the waters, crossing when it was safe, so that his scent trail wouldn't be in tact if they sicked tracker dogs after him. The sun was starting to rise high in the sky, and he had quite a distance left to the nearest village. KJ ran, even as his muscles screamed from the extra weight of the soldier, and his lungs burned for air. He ran, feeling the other man's blood seeping into his clothes, unsure if there would be ramifications of his escape, and driven by his desire to see his family once more._

 _When he finally found a doctor, he had to contract himself for work in exchange for the soldier's medical care. He had money, but he had no access to it at the time. Not that he minded: he found his fingers remembered his life's work, and the town was happy to have him around. His eye was lost. There was nothing that could've been done there. What they'd had to be careful of most was infection. Thankfully, the bullet had stopped in the eye ball, and though the eye was destroyed, it had protected the crucial tissue of the brain. Still, they would continue to be present there for nearly two years. Although the recovery time from the surgical procedure to attach auto-mail was only five to six months in Enciel, this place did not have the superior resources or technology available. It took some trial and error, detachment and reattachment, and then a lengthy physical therapy and recovery. During this time, Gilbert exchanged missives with the military, sent letters to Claudia Hodgins, and relied on KJ. They were fast friends, and KJ thought that they would've been the same in any other circumstance._

"I'm irresistible, after all," KJ had joked, evoking an exasperated half-smile from Gilbert. "Of course, I'd _assumed_ ," KJ said, casting Gilbert an unhappy look, "that he had contacted his family as well…. And I didn't realize you two were connected until the night Ms. Bougainvillea passed."

They had moved to the living room for this longer discussion, and Dietfried found himself at the edge of his seat, peering at KJ with curiosity. "You were so careful to not discuss what you were doing at that camp, why you'd escaped from it, or even whether or not it was an enemy camp or one of our own. Care to elaborate?"

KJ looked stricken. "Why, Dietfried, you already know most of that story." That proclamation took Dietfried off guard, and he fell into silence to contemplate it. Then, his curiosity got the better of him, so he tucked that comment away for further contemplation, and changed the topic.

"Okay, that's two of these long years. That doesn't explain the other two, nor why you chose not to tell us why you were alive, Gil." Dietfried turned grim eyes to his brother, the expectation weighing heavily on Gilbert, who sighed, suddenly weary. "I went back to work with the military," he said simply, and stopped talking. Dietfried started at him, expression deadpan. "There better be more to that, Gil," he said, a warning note to his voice. Dietfried was selfish by nature -a flaw he'd been recently trying to combat, but there was only so much room for that in his heart for this situation. He felt his brows draw together in his frustration. Gilbert recognized the expression; he'd seen it so many times over the years. Dietfried was the only person that could snarl without baring his teeth: his eyebrows would furrow, and the muscles around his nose would tense, so that he really looked like a threatened wolf. Nostalgia whispered through the room, and Gilbert sighed.

"The rest is classified, need to know only. As Colonel, I have sworn secrecy in this matter. All I can tell you is that it was an Army-related job, and it has finally allowed me to come back home, although the mission is not yet complete."

"Ah, well, congratulations on the promotion," Dietfried said, voice flat and cold. "I do hope that the suffering of your family and friends was worth the title upgrade." An idea startled him, and he felt his eyes widen. "Does this classified, need to know only mission have anything to do with the rumor of someone wanting to resurrect the monarchy? Is that why you're back home now?"

Gilbert stared at him, aghast. "What…? How….?"

"It _is_ then?" Dietfried ran his hands through his hair, thinking. "So, the rumors do have some merit." He stood up as Gilbert approached him, taking in his mildly annoyed expression.

"You really have no reason to know that information," Gilbert said, jabbing his finger into his brother's chest… right on the surgical incision near his heart. Pain exploded through Dietfried and he gasped, all of the color drained from his face, and he began to see stars. He didn't remember the fall to the floor, but he was suddenly on his knees, and he was able to see some of the world past the little black dots that had overtaken his vision. Gil was wide-eyed as KJ cursed and scurried over to Dietfried.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Dietfried ground out between clenched teeth, pushing KJ's steadying hand away. "Don't threaten to rip off my shirt again."

KJ leveled Gilbert with a glare. "I _told_ you he's had surgery recently, Gilbert. Don't be so reckless next time." Gil opened his mouth to ask why he'd had surgery, but a desperate knocking on the front door distracted him. He heard Claudia's voice shouting through the wood. Dietfried stood slowly, a bit unsteady on his feet, but the last thing he wanted was to look weak in front of the likes of Claudia, who he was furious with for not telling him his brother lived.

"Bougainvillea!," Claudia shouted once more as he burst into the house, Benedict right behind him. "Good, you're both here…." He caught his breath a moment, and Benedict's concerned eyes caught Dietfried's angry ones. Something about those bright blue eyes, so like Violet's, looking at him so seriously cause Dietfried to put his anger away. _Something has happened._

"Vi's car was attacked before she ever got on the train," Benedict said somberly, and everyone in the room tensed, looking at him with horror in their eyes. "There was blood in the back seat." KJ gasped, while the others just looked crestfallen at the news. Then, the Bougainvillea brothers rallied, and they were making plans and grabbing weapons, wasting no time on anything else.

They were going to find Violet.

…

The group had hardly started out before the rain started. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightening flashed a warning up ahead. Dietfried could see his breath as he exhaled, and knew that it was likely that the rain would shift to snow with nightfall. The wind whipped his hair, and he was suddenly grateful for the short cut the hospital had forced on him. He could do with anything, even something as small as his hair, distracting him from his path. There was a ferocity to the silence of the group, each of them gearing up to do whatever needed to be done to find and return Violet.

They went to the car first, hoping to catch clues. The metal vehicle was barely recognizable as a vehicle. The air bags had deployed, the windows were all shattered, and it looked like a giant beast had taken a bite out of the metal. The entire back passenger side was ripped away, exposing the back seat to the open air. The rest of the metal was crumbled like disturbed tinfoil. The blood in the back seat was substantial, but KJ didn't think the amount of blood indicated a fatal injury. The driver, however, was dead: draped like a marionette whose strings had been cut over the steering wheel, blood and other, thicker things still dripping from his head.

Dietfried had seen something like this before… and his blood ran cold with the memory. He looked up at Gilbert, and his mind suddenly put all of the puzzle pieces together. "Oh… Oh God," he groaned, and Gilbert's one eye watched as his brother's face paled, horror filling his eyes. "It was all about _you_." Dietfried turned, running a hand through his hair. Memories swirled around, and his knees went weak. He sat on the ground abruptly enough that KJ made a worried sound, stepping toward him.

The dreams he'd been having, the suspicions of Jefferies' guilt in Zilly's death...

 _Recognition stirred as his eyes met the man behind the windshield: Jefferies' man, Drexel Vogt, who stared at Dietfried even as he raised the weapon and aimed it right at Dietfried's mother._

 _A whisper in the darkness: 'Those bullets weren't meant for you, son…. It looks like I'll get my wish regardless: He is coming.'_

 _'There have been insinuations that the illegal weapons trade, the violent attacks throughout town, and an extremist faction wanting to resurrect the old monarchy are all connected…. And there are whispers that your family line is the one they want as the new kingship, since you're one of the oldest blood lines of our country. I imagine you might be the target of some… interesting groups in the near future. I felt that you should be properly warned. Keep your eyes open.'_

Gilbert's return…. A classified job….

 _A snarling Jefferies,_ _ferocity in the gravely proclamation: 'I get what I want, Bougainvillea. And what I want is to play with that tool until its broken and bleeding, and them I'm going to kill it.'_

Fear descended over Dietfried, so thick he could hardly breath through it, and he started to breathe heavily under the stress of it, as though he'd been running. The agony in his eyes awakened a mirroring one in Gilbert. Slowly, Dietfried reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his movements slow with the heaviness of his dread. He had the number memorized from hundreds of friendly calls between them over the years. The dull sound of the ring numbed him, and when a familiar voice picked up and said hello, he couldn't hide the grief in his voice.

"Where do you have her, Jefferies…?," Dietfried asked through clenched teeth.

Jefferies didn't bother to play dumb. There was a long silence from his end of the phone line, then he replied, "The warehouse along the train tracks…. You know the one." He paused. "You put all of this together more quickly than I'd imagined. I'm proud of you." Dietfried choked on the praise. "Is he with you?," his betrayer asked, referring to Gilbert.

"Yes," Dietfried breathed out raggedly. "Is she alive?"

"For now. I'll see you soon." Then there was silence, and guilt, sorrow, and bile burned the back of Dietfried's throat.


	16. Chapter 16

As the only place of importance between the two small-time train stations, the rendezvous point was a large warehouse that had been abandoned for years. It was stationed just past the tracks Dietfried had used many times to go to and return from Jefferies' house in his youth. The building was perched on a narrow strip of land that ended as quickly as it started, merely a mound of earth and rock and grass that stretched a mere sixteen furlongs. It rose up out of the surrounding water, with no way to get to it save the train, walking the tracks, or by a boat ride followed by a long, steep hike up to the flatland that cradled the building. Dietfried had never been inside, but he had some idea of what to expect within its walls. His heart was in his stomach, fluttering. Still, his stoic face was as impassive as Gilbert's: a trait their father had instilled in them, and then the Navy and Army had respectfully reinforced.

Dietfried glanced over their ragtag group, his mind on the task ahead as they walked down the tracks toward the warehouse, ears alert for the train. Jefferies was a high ranking officer of the Navy: there would be no easy way out of this situation. The dread that had been wiggling through his innards gave a great twist as Dietfried looked up to realize there were snipers on top of the building, pointed their way as they walked the tracks toward the building. A closer look at the windows revealed that there were other gunmen armed and ready, looking at them through their scopes. They wouldn't even have the chance to fight: they were already prisoners before reaching the rendezvous. A glance shared with Gilbert confirmed that neither of them had a way around this grim, yet tactically sound setup. The only option was to go inside and dare to hope they all made it back out alive.

A man with pale skin, up-tilted grey-green eyes, and a grimly twisted mouth dressed all in black exited the building and approached them, a gun hanging from his shoulder, and the wind whipping his short brown hair. He was lithe and moved with a languorous sway of purpose, his stride whispering of the limberness associated with dancers, acrobats, and assassins. KJ noticed with the stranger's approach that what he'd thought was a sleeveless shirt actually was armor, and it caught the light of the sun to shimmer brightly like ebony scales. He'd never seen such armor before, and found himself thoroughly distracted by...its _unique_ design. The scales moved with the soldier, each breath causing the unusual fabric beneath to expand with his muscles. It took too long for him to realize that the man had been speaking, and longer still to realize that the man was staring back at him. It felt like looking up and meeting the gaze of a leopard preparing to pounce.

KJ mentally replayed the last few moments, and pieced together a generalization of what the soldier had said… with an added flair that suited his own dramatic tastes. ' _My master awaits_ _you_ _. Come_ _with me…_ _unless you'd prefer to fall here and now_.' He'd trailed off to return KJ's gaze. KJ took a moment to smile slowly, feeling every slow centimeter of his lips curving up until he flashed the bright white of a toothy grin, invoking the imagery of a wolf flashing its ferocity at competition, yet somehow also managing to be charming with flirtatious undertones. The soldier on the receiving side of KJ's smoldering look was left imagining that he'd just invited a dragon into their temporary fortress, and he planned to make everything inside his next conquest. Unnerved, he gave a subtle signal to his men, and felt them move without hesitation in a blur of speed.

A swift glint of silver in the corner of KJ's eyes was all the warning they had. KJ felt a distinct shove to the side, and Dietfried was suddenly there, taking the blow of the tiny projectile that had so quickly overtaken them. KJ was distantly aware that Benedict had deftly avoided a blow, but only to have his face covered with some sort of drugged cloth by a nearby soldier. Benedict struggled like a trapped kitten for a few heartbeats, but succumbed to unconsciousness. his sharp-heeled shoes left behind in the dirt as his attacker headed inside, Benedict's unconscious form in tow. Gilbert dodged one dangerous needle, then another, only to fall prey to the third, which lodged in his chest. He grunted very softly on impact, but fell instantly to hit the ground in a swirl of gravel, his eye closed and body limp. One of the hired hands swept forward and tossed Gil over his shoulder in one practiced movement, barely breaking stride as he tromped toward the building.

Dietfried looked down to where his dart stuck out from his bicep. The sedative coating the tiny missile must have been potent, because his legs gave out from underneath him only moments after impact. KJ grabbed him before his knees buckled, but he only managed to break his friend's fall -turning what would've been a firm splat onto the ground into a haphazard sinking to the earth- before the scaled-soldier wrapped his arms around him from behind, cradling his body close as he covered his mouth and nose with a drugged cloth. KJ struggled, but the arms squeezed tighter, the drug stealing his strength. KJ recognized that he had no way out, and, desperate, KJ let his body go limp before he fully lost consciousness, hoping to retain some lucidity. The next few moments were large, blurry shapes, jerky movements that left him feeling nauseous, and soft voices that floated to him from some distant shore.

Time stretched into a void of blackness, broken momentarily by glimpses of clarity. KJ opened his eyes once to see Dietfried before him with hands tied behind his back. He didn't look good: KJ noted the dark bags beneath his eyes, the scars lining the pale skin of his torso, and his _expression…_ There was a heated ferocity there that could have only been born of a wretched past, and it was all aimed at the tender expression of Jefferies, who crouched before Dietfried with a gentle finger under his chin. "Now, now…," Jefferies said, his deep voice smooth like liquid silk. "What is your answer, Dietfried?" KJ watched Dietfried snarl, and through gritted teeth, he answered: _"Do it."_ KJ's stomach flipped with worry, and he started to reach for them, but firm hands tightened around him, a sharp pain in his neck as more of the wretched drug was forcibly thrust into his body, and the world fell away again.

His next moment of lucidity left him terribly aware of his dry, cracking lips, a burning thirst, and he was sure that he had been out for a long time. He groaned, rolling to his side and curling into a ball as his stomach cramped with the remnants of the drugs. He dry-heaved, then his body broke into hard shakes that left his teeth chattering. He slowly became aware of his surroundings: the cold stone beneath him, the damp, stinking air, and a darkness so thick that he hadn't originally realized he had his eyes open. He moved his legs a bit, noticing an extra weight on his left ankle, but didn't take the energy to investigate. His arms trembled as he pushed himself off the floor into a sitting position, where he waited for the resulting dizziness to pass before he turned his head to meet the gaze of the scaley-armored soldier. The man was crouched like a tiger on the other side of the bars, peering in at him. The weight of his gaze was heavy, and KJ felt those cat-like eyes scan him.

"The amount of the drug you administered could've stopped my heart," KJ advised with the bland indifference of a man conducting a scientific experiment. KJ couldn't make out his features well in the darkness, but he had a sense that the soldier raised his eyebrows at him. "You awaken to discover you'd been captured, drugged, and are being held in an unknown dungeon… and _that's_ the part that you decide to calmly discuss with one of your captors?," the soldier asked incredulously. KJ heard the rustle that probably accompanied a head shake. "You're an interesting one…." His focus sharpened on KJ, and it felt as if the man had no trouble at all seeing him through the thick dark. "What should I call you?"

KJ found the question most interesting. He had not inquired what his name was: rather, he specifically assumed that KJ would not provide his actual name, and therefore automatically asked for what to _call_ him. "You may call me KJ," he answered with caution in his tone. It wasn't enough information to cause him harm, as far as he could tell in his current state. "And you?" There was a tinge of amusement in the voice that returned: "...Mardoc." KJ nodded, then tilted his head. "And why are you here, observing the little fly you've caught in your spider's web, Mardoc?" There was a pause, and he _felt_ Mardoc mirror his head-tilt, a sensation that sent chills up KJ's arms. "I am here because I doubt that we've caught a fly at all: just another spider preparing to take over our hard-won web."

KJ made a sound of disbelief. "Oh, I hardly believe that you plan to remain just outside of my prison the entire time I am to be held here. Not with all that web to keep shiny and beneath the nose of the other… food." The other man chuckled: a dark sound that gave KJ the shivers as it wrapped around him, thicker than the shadows… he just wasn't sure if it was the thrilling sort of the fear-induced shivers, but he wasn't entirely upset about them. Some deep part of him seemed pleased by the soldier's behavior, and his breath came quicker in its wake. "This is not your permanent place of residence, little dragon," Mardoc said, and KJ noticed for the first time a very slight accent in the sentence, one he couldn't place. "No, I am here to take you to my master. He says your friend has been requesting to see you alive for the sake of cooperation."

True to his word, he stood, and the sound of the iron bars being unlocked was followed swiftly by the creak of a door being pushed inward. "But I volunteered for the job, as I am the only one who truly sees the fire in your breath." He came forward and helped KJ to his feet, his grip firm yet gentle as he provided stability and support. Shortly after, Mardoc reached to his own belt to retrieve a flask full of water, and helped KJ drink. He took the flask away far too soon for the thirst to be gone, but KJ understood without the soldier having to explain that too much too quickly would cause more harm than good... and likely another round of sickness. Together, they maneuvered the stairs and hallways that seemed to stretch on forever. He'd seen no sign of the others, but he hadn't gotten much of a look at the dungeon either. KJ was exhausted before they arrived at their destination, but he'd taken in the route and all the activities happening in each location he'd seen, then placed the information to the back of his mind to digest later. The room he'd been brought to was lavish: full of cushioned couches, chairs, and tables he associated with formal tea parties.

"Huh… the bad guys have doilies," he remarked snidely, and Mardoc gave a choked cough. The commotion they made drew the attention of the two men at the opposite corner of the room, seated at one of the frillier tables covered in crackers, fancy cheeses, nuts, and succulent fruits. One of the men stood swiftly, taking two quick strides toward them before freezing in place. It took KJ a moment to realize it was Dietfried. He blamed this fact on his still sluggish senses, and the fact that his friend looked… different. The glimpse he'd had of Dietfried during his drugged awareness was still there, exacerbated and highlighted, but somehow contained in the opulent clothing he was wearing. The black pants looked as if the soft leather-like material had been poured over the thick muscles of his calves and thighs. The white silk shirt somehow was designed to show off Dietfried's upper body's slenderness while dipping low to reveal a long glimpse of the pale cream of his chest, and holes cut at the shoulders to reveal more muscle and skin. Somehow, this was done without allowing a single glimpse of the scars KJ knew to be beneath the cloth.

KJ could also see the paleness to his friend's skin, where the blue blood vessels were highlighted in a ghastly display. Although these clothes fit him perfectly, there was a distinct amount of weight that had just vanished from him in what time they'd been apart. There were deep, dark bags under his eyes that gave his eyes a deep-set, haunted expression…. But his _eyes…._ KJ saw that there was a feverish intensity to those eyes – a light that KJ associated with the beginnings of madness, and it chilled him to the bone. There had been a distinct difference in the way he walked too: Dietfried was ever graceful, confident: a hard-won bonus from soldier training, but those steps had been jerky, uncertain, and hesitant. It reminded KJ of a child, seeking his father's approval, yet sure that he was about to be beaten for a crime not committed.

KJ looked into the stormy green of his friend's eyes, and hated Jefferies bitterly. Dietfried had never been fully forthcoming of his past, but KJ knew the signs of child abuse. He wasn't sure of the severity, but he knew the extra weight that Dietfried carried on his shoulders was only outweighed by the horrors of the battlefield. KJ also had heard enough stories about Jefferies to realize that Dietfried saw him as a father figure for a long, long time…. And now, here they were. Like a repeated nightmare that follows one in the deep recesses of the mind, peeking out of the shadows of life to terrorize, victimize, and remind one that there is no escaping the past, a moment where the monster that had always been sensed throughout childhood was indeed real, and looking at you from only a breath away…. KJ turned his eyes to Jefferies, who sat with nonchalance in his white uniform, watching. KJ's eyes smeared the man with his disdain. "You sick bastard," he snipped, locking his emotions deep within him to use as his motivation to claw this man to pieces. "What game do you think you are playing at?" He saw Dietfried flinch in the corners of his eyes, and KJ turned to him, reaching for him.

"Dietfried," he whispered, voice soothing, and saw his friend's surprised eyes turn up to meet his gaze. He opened his mouth to say more, but Jefferies moved, and pain shot up his left ankle, stealing his breath away, along with his consciousness. He heard himself gasp sharply, Mardoc cursed, then he was falling, and knew nothing at all.


	17. Chapter 17

From the moment he'd awakened from the drugged state of delirium, Dietfried realized that he and his friends were in deep shit. This idea was exacerbated by the realization that he'd already been awake for some time now, but the hallucinations persisted. He watched as the room twisted and swirled beneath his feet, colors shifting and melting into one another, and voices he recognized were distorted into demonic rumbles of verbal thunder. The brief glimpses of normalcy he received was similar to being certain he was drowning and about to die, then he had an unexpected opportunity for a deep gasp of air before the waves covered him again. There was a soft, high-pitched ringing in his ears that pervaded everything, ferociously soaking into his consciousness even in the moments he could recognize the world around him, even if he did not know where they had taken them. Walking was difficult: the floor beneath him sank like mud, or the room reoriented into a sideways tilt, and he was still expected to progress as soldiers -or were they truly those ghastly twisted creatures with fangs and blackened skin?- shoved and half-dragged him along their chosen path.

Eternity stretched itself into those seconds, minutes, ...hours. Just as Dietfried was sure he'd been thrown straight into hell itself, the party halted, and the nearest beast slammed him onto his knees. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to grasp his rationality. Monsters only came in the form of men, when their hearts were blackened by hate and rage. He squeezed his right hand with his left where they were tied together behind his back. Solid. This, _this_ was real…. Right? Doubt wiggled into his certainty and rotted it from within. It filled with worms and….

"Worried, Dietfried?," a voice just before his face rumbled, and for another gasping breath of a moment, the world was clear of the filter of horrors. He opened his eyes and peered at Jefferies, feeling truly alive for that moment. "Tell you what…. I'm willing to give you a kindness in exchange for your good behavior so far." Then, the world twisted, and was full of the dark blight of nightmares. Dietfried watched as Jefferies became a huge bug-like creature, black and shiny with armored tusks that glinted with sharpness. Those tusks wrapped around him, threatening, warning that he was food, and it was the predator. It could gobble him up in moments… on a mere whim. "I will release the blond boy, and your brother… for a price." Dietfried scowled, forcing himself to be still despite the nearness of black torment moving ever closer to his flesh. It wasn't until that moment that he realized he was without a shirt, and that was the detail that nearly broke his composure. He _loathed_ for his scars to shine….

"What about Violet and KJ?," Dietfried managed past teeth he hadn't realized he'd been grinding to prevent the scream of horror that bubbled like vomit at the back of his throat. He could hear his father's voice like wind on the back of his neck: _You scream, make any sound at all, and I'll show you what terror and pain truly are._ The bug made a _tsk_ sound, although it did not relinquish the sharp pincers' position in order to display the condensation. "Now, now…. Don't be unreasonable. Your tool isn't in any condition to be moved around, and KJ may prove useful to me. The other two will just be nuisances." Dietfried's stomach churned, and for a moment he thought that he really would be sick, right there on the bug. He sucked in a harsh breath, and forced his words out past the fear, past the illness. "In exchange for what?," he demanded, putting more strength into his voice than he felt.

"Continued cooperation, of course," Jefferies said in a tone that was bordering on condescension. "When I get you home, don't go running off, or attacking my people. Just hear me out: that's all I ask. In exchange, your brother and the blond boy will be provided a ride home – blindfolded, of course, but you know how it is…." Dietfried had to look down to collect himself as the bug transformed into a sharp-toothed ghoul made of shifting shadow and glowing yellow eyes. He felt more than saw the clawed hand reach out and touch his chin to bring his head gently up to meet those awful eyes. Then, as Dietfried watched, the ghoul became a spitting image of his father. He looked into the cold green of his father's eyes, so like his own, and felt an old rage burn through him. It blasted through his fear to overwhelm him and he embraced it, allowed it to bring him strength. This, at least, was a battle he'd fought before and knew how to win. As though he'd sensed Dietfried's change in demeanor, Jefferies said with Mr. Bougainvillea's mouth: "Now, now….What is your answer, Dietfried?" Dietfried snarled, and through still gritted teeth, he answered: _"Do it."_

They blindfolded him and put him on some sort of vehicle with a large engine that rumbled loudly. He was able to lay flat on a cool surface, just breathing. His world had been particularly narrow when his eyes were open: all he could do was focus on one step at a time, each individual breath in, then out. Not screaming from one moment to the next. With his eyes shut, he only had to cope with the occasional whisper that scorched his soul. He let his senses branch out, feeling his environment. There was a warmth next to him, and there were soft breaths coming slowly from the body there. Perhaps it was KJ? Dietfried tried speaking to him, but received no reply. Likely, his friend had been drugged as he was. The silence stretched forward, and unconsciousness claimed him as the minutes stretched into hours.

His dreams were warped and unusual, with only one really feeling solid in his memory. He could hear a steady dripping of water in a world with no color, only shades of gray. Slowly, the swirl of color solidified into a large stone fountain full of carvings of bountiful times: naked women and fruits, treasure offerings and jewels. As he looked at it, the scene tilted sideways, and the fountain decayed before him before it straightened to a stagnated, moss-covered tribute to better times. He approached the fountain, looking down to where he expected to find water, but it was filled with blood. From within its depths, a head floated to the surface, Dietfried watching all the while with horrified fascination. Then, he recognized the partially rotted features, and made a choked sound of revulsion.

Dietfried snapped up with a gasp, looking around for the danger his body insisted there was. He was in a bedchamber with one small, barred window near the ceiling. The bed was cushioned well, yet firm, and the sheets were silk. The floor was made of brick, but covered by a thin antique rug covered with intricate designs. There was one small, curvy oak table in the room draped with a doily and two wooden chairs that matched its carved designs. On the table was a few sheets of paper, a pen, and nothing else. There was a chamber pot in the furthest corner of the room near the door, which was likely locked. Dietfried struggled to get his breathing under control and thought how strange it was that all seemed…normal. That is, until Zillipheradora Von Weber strode through the door with the click of heels on the brick floor that changed into soft whispers as she hit the carpet. _So much for normal…_

He peered at her from under his lashes, feeling dazed and somehow numbed by the combination of his dream of her head and her sudden appearance, as though his tolerance limit had been exceeded, and he could handle nothing further – could _process_ nothing more. She pulled one of the chairs out and draped her long legs across it, so that she leaned on the back of the chair with one leg on each side of the back, her elbows braced on the top and her chin resting on her folded arms. Her eyes twinkled at him, and he knew he must be delirious. He rubbed at his eyes, and just like that, she was gone. But the pleading in her eyes haunted him. With renewed vigor, Dietfried stood. Zilly's face reminded him of who he was, why he was there, and what he needed to do. Violet was still alive, and now he had to find her _and_ KJ in this place so that he could get them the hell out safely. He started toward the door, but felt a draft and glanced down to find himself utterly naked. Well… there were only so many things around the room, and none of which could possibly be hiding clothing. With a flustered click of his tongue, he snatched the sheet up from the bed, wrapped himself in it, and strode toward the door without another moment of hesitation.

He reached for the door knob, and was pleased to find it unlocked. Boldly, he strode out of the door only to hear the soldier posted there shout, and something stabbed sharply into his arm. He grunted, feeling all at once disoriented -as if he'd been slapped by a large, speeding fist- and dropped to one knee. It was only moments later that the world began to twist into the same terrible nightmare he'd been experiencing before. He cursed, closed his eyes, and reminded himself it wasn't real. He opened his eyes and glared at the soldier, who appeared as a giant bat, with a wide gaping jaw and large round, red eyes. He saw the bat flinch, and it made a spine-tingling screech of alarm as he stood to tower over it. "Take me to Jefferies," he demanded, only just remembering that he had to hold the sheet in place around him as it slipped from around his shoulders and fell halfway to the floor before he caught it, and forced it to stay around his hips by gripping the fabric with tight fists at the sides. The bat-thing nodded wordlessly, and they began striding up the hallway.

Others stared as they progressed, but Dietfried only had eyes for the path before him as he gathered his strength. He was done sniveling to this strange world he'd been cast into! If they wanted him as king, then they would not be permitted to treat him and his people like playthings. They'd managed to surprise him before: they would not get to see him weak again. No matter what they threw at him, _he would bring Violet home_. He would fail neither her nor KJ as he'd failed Zilly. The bat approached a large wooden door and two other guards -these looked quite a lot like bulldogs in suites. The bat opened its maw, but Dietfried stepped around it, and it cowered. "Stand aside," he demanded, glaring at the bulldogs. "I will speak with your master." The two looked at each other, then lifted floppy jowls to snarl at him. Dietfried wouldn't ask nicely a second time. He released the blanket and used his legs to thrust himself forward with both arms extended out, thus slamming the thickness of his arm muscles into their throats and knocking them backwards into the room beyond, where Jefferies awaited. Abandoning the sheet behind him, Dietfried strode naked into the foyer of his former boss, an expression of annoyance at the mild inconvenience marring his handsome features.

Jefferies sent the maid he'd been speaking to away, who was gaping while she blushed and made incoherent sounds of startled appreciation mixed with protest at Dietfried's physique. Dietfried watched her go with uninterested eyes, seeing her as a cat-like creature cautiously stalking out of the room, then he turned to Jefferies, who laughed. Oddly enough, the man was just a man to Dietfried, although he suspected there was enough monster hidden within to fill his nightmares anew. "Well, that's quite the entrance," Jefferies said after he'd had a good laugh. "Better than old times, wouldn't you agree?" The response was automatic, and Dietfried was a bit startled to hear himself answer with such bitterness. "This is not even close to the times before, Jefferies," he snipped, and was surprised to see actual hurt in Jefferies' eyes.

"Ah, yes. Well, I do suppose I have much to discuss with you…. But first, let's get you in some clothes." He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a white shirt and black pants. Dietfried raised an eyebrow, but slid into the clothes without protest, and once the fabric covered him, he felt soothed by the presence of cloth on his back. He really hated for the scars there to see the light of day. "If you expect me to just sit here and have a nice chat like we used to, you've deluded yourself terribly. _Where are my people?_ I refuse to cooperate until I know they are okay."

Jefferies plopped down at a table with a heavy sigh. "Your brother and the blond boy have been taken to your home in Liden, left heavily drugged under the care of your housekeeper…." He peered out over folded hands, eyes growing colder. "The other two are somewhere in this building, under my continued care…. I thought you might feel this way, so I have arranged for KJ to be brought here for you to be assured, but the tool must stay where it is. It is a threat to my home if let loose, and I doubt that any of my men would be safe near it. Plus, it's a bit… rusty right now. Needs a good polishing up before being transported to a different location." He shrugged. "One will have to do, for now." He made a gesture, and a servant began to bring in platters of food to sit on the table. Jefferies indicated the chair next to him, requesting that Dietfried sit without a word. Dietfried hesitated, cautious, but he slowly sank into the chair, staring at the food that looked so foreign to him in this drugged sate. He couldn't imagine actually eating: he wasn't even hungry. The sound of the door opening drew his gaze, and with relief he saw the bat letting in the scaled-soldier and a haggard-looking KJ, who looked blessedly normal outside of the obvious signs of their rough capture.

"Huh… the bad guys have doilies," he remarked snidely, and the scaled soldier gave a choked cough. Something tight in Dietfried's chest loosened, and he stood, taking a few halting steps toward his friend before he froze. He didn't want to risk KJ coming to harm because he showed too much preference toward him…. KJ looked at him for a moment, then his gaze sharpened, looking him up and down before turning to Jefferies, who sat with nonchalance in his white uniform, watching. KJ's eyes smeared the man with his disdain. "You sick bastard," he snipped, "What game do you think you are playing at?" The harsh tone of his voice caused Dietfried a brief flashback of his father that made him flinch, and he noticed in his peripheral vision as KJ turned to him, reaching for him.

"Dietfried," he whispered, voice soothing, Dietfried turned surprised eyes up to meet his gaze. He opened his mouth to say more, but Jefferies moved to press some button he had on a remote nearby, causing KJ to gasped sharply, the soldier to curse, then his friend was falling to the floor, clearly unconscious. The other man caught KJ and eased him the rest of the way to the ground, and Dietfried appreciated the care he'd taken in doing so. He forced himself to focus on the other man's face, saving it to memory. If he could, he would ensure this man came to no harm for his kindness. Anger snapped in his eyes as he turned back to Jefferies, who frowned disapprovingly in return. "I can see that we will be able to make no progress today," Jefferies said, annoyance leaking into his voice. "Take that one back to his cell, Mardoc."

Dietfried opened his mouth to oppose, but a terrible monster came barreling into the room, tentacles waving, a gaping maw full of teeth and a green slimy tongue slithering across the hole that led down, down…. It sized KJ and the soldier in a spray of blood, and… Dietfried felt the blood drain from his face as he staggered backward, lost his balance, and ungracefully dropped to the floor, landing on his backside. He blinked hard, and saw Mardoc peering curiously at him over KJ's head. They were fine, and there was no creature there to shred them into bite-sized pieces. Dietfried closed his eyes and rested his forehead in his hands with a sharp curse. From behind him, he could feel Jefferies lean closer. "...Dietfried?," he asked, caution and true alarm filling his tone. "What the hell?"

"Those drugs you people keep pouring into me are terrible," Dietfried half-snarled. "They cause the worst hallucinations…. You wouldn't believe-"

 _"_ _Hallucinations?",_ Jefferies repeated, incredulous. "It's meant to be a sedative, not…. All this time you've been…. Mother's Great Ass, Bougainvillea. You should've _said_ something…." He carted Dietfried away to the herbalist then, fussing all the way like a disturbed hen with a chick. The distinct change in behavior confounded Dietfried, so much so that the next few hours was a blurr of faces, time, and the sound of Jefferies' voice.

Dietfried had spent many days in Jefferies' home during his childhood, but the last time he'd carried on so was when Dietfried had popped his right knee out of its socket by falling out of a tree while playing. It was truly a nostalgic feeling to see the man talking about his well being with others. He'd been so somber, a young man of twenty years during that time, as he'd made the announcement to Dietfried's father to advise of the accident and his recommended follow up care. He remembered his friend's ready expression when the bomb of his father's wrath burst. Th memory brought a wrenching pain in his chest, and as he laid down for the night, Dietfried found himself aching to see his friend as he used to be, yet knowing in his heart that person had died long ago.

When next he awoke, his mind was sharp again, and his first thoughts were of Violet: her smile, the feeling of her hand in his, the sound of her voice, the color of her ocean blue eyes…. He sat up and looked toward the door, feeling the ferocity of his warrior spirit stir. He stood, and moved toward the door, his expression livid. "I'm coming to find you, Violet," he promised to the air, fists clenched into fists, ready for the fight he was sure to get on the way. He would start with the dungeons, and he would take down any opposition that he faced along his path.

He jerked the door open in a determined blur of movement, only to come face to face with Jefferies, who looked… apologetic? He wondered how long the man had been standing outside of the door. Jefferies cleared his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, good. You're up," he said, and Dietfried recognized that look on his face: expectant, firm, unwavering, yet apologetic… just like when he went to face down Dietfried's father after he'd popped his knee out of place. Dietfried tensed, as if for a blow, knowing he wouldn't like whatever the man was about to say. "I might as well get to the point, then…. There was an...incident last night. Your tool is broken… beyond repair this time."

Dietfried stared at him numbly. "What…? Do you mean she's… dead? Violet is _dead_?" Jefferies nodded, and emotions flooded over Dietfried. He knew nothing showed on his face, but within his body a grenade had just burst in a fiery blast of devastation. The concussion of the blast left him numb and dazed, and he knew that the wreckage he'd have to assess later would be excessive. Shock and denial ran through him, but he couldn't get his mind to catch up to the whirlwind of his heart.

"Alas, we must move locations immediately," Jefferies continued, his tone changing with chilled formality. "I must insist that you be sedated for this part of our journey, but it will be a different medication this time, so no hallucinations…." Dietfried didn't even notice the hands of the soldier that held him in place. He didn't feel the stick of the needle. When he fell, he didn't even realize he was on the floor and losing consciousness as he turned to find the well of blackness he held within him, holding the gaping emptiness that once had a pulse and a purpose. That darkness had followed him since childhood, growing, feeding on his pain. Dietfried felt himself look into the ceaseless pit, and felt that it was watching him too, just as he had hundreds of times before. It was a feeling he only got when he was so _tired_ of living that he wished for an alternative: the thick, murky depression that clouded his mind while he looked down the barrel of his gun, and thought about pulling the trigger. He'd fought against that empty feeling so many times in the past… only to be faced with it again and again. Now, he had no reason to fight it. He looked into its wide arms and decided it was the only friend he had. Without hesitation, he let himself be consumed, knowing that he would likely never emerge from that lightless depth again. From the cold echoes of its presence, Jefferies' voice whispered: _She's dead._


	18. Chapter 18

_Fire and ice poured through KJ's body. He felt the earth beneath him shift as he kicked off the landing with such force that the ground broke beneath his boots. Fire_ _:_ _he was going to slaughter them all. Ice : he had no remorse or forgiveness for any of them. They'd taken her from him. He'd become a slave to win her freedom… and they had abandoned her after they twisted her entire existence_ _into something less than human. They'd taken everything, and not even their screams would satisfy his rage._

 _RAGE. Rivers of blood will pour down the hillside._

Mardoc leaned over KJ's unconscious body, reaching out with the intention to lift him and carry him out of Jefferies' chamber, but just as his fingers lightly brushed KJ's cheeks while he reached to secure the other man's head, KJ awoke. Mardoc had one breath to process as KJ's tawny eyes snapped open with a flash of warning… then KJ was moving, and Mardoc had no choice but to do the same. KJ was only partly released from his waking nightmare, and without thought he lashed out, palm flat as it headed toward Mardoc's throat.

 _Rage. Every life will be crushed._ _He would suffer n_ _o survivors._

Mardoc snapped his upper body back, just out of the path of that windpipe-crushing blow. He had no time to recover himself as KJ's body moved under the muscle memory of instinctual self-defense. The man hadn't even sat up fully before launching his next attack in the form of a kick to Mardoc's face. Mardoc reached up, grabbing KJ's leg and pushing against it, utilizing KJ's momentum to roll himself across the room, providing himself some room for reaction… and some hope of safety. Mardoc was under no illusions: he knew of the man he currently faced, and if KJ decided his life was forfeit, he would never see the light of day again.

 _Rage…._

KJ zipped across the room in a blur of golden skin and the glimmer of a killer's intent in his eyes. Mardoc didn't even have time for an attempt at self-preservation; instead, he stared into those approaching hell-scorched eyes and resigned himself to fate as KJ fell upon him, his hand clasping Mardoc's throat. The moment stretched out into a thousand as Mardoc closed his eyes, knowing the squeeze that would end him was just a moment away…. And he waited, but nothing came. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at KJ, who was staring at him with squinted eyes. KJ blinked a few times, and when he spoke, his voice was raw. "...Mardoc…?," he muttered, confusion permeating the name. Mardoc heaved a sigh of relief, realizing that there was no squeeze coming from the hand prepped for his destruction. "Yes," Mardoc half-gasped, body so still that he seemed to hardly breathe at all. KJ paused another moment, letting his hand slide down from Mardoc's throat to rest lightly at his collar bone. He stared into those grey-green eyes as he slowly shook off the weight of his memories.

" **Kitoran Jenkins…**. Golden Dragon of Bociaccia," Mardoc breathed his name in a sigh. "I have never seen your Beserker mode before…. But I would imagine any army would rue the day that you were unleashed upon them; those poor, ignorant sacrifices to your bloodlust."

KJ snorted and dropped his hand as he stepped back. "The government, in all its wisdom, fabricated that particular story. I did not reign terror on that army because of loyalties or a leash connected to the enemy. I did it because of what they _did._ " His voice dipped to a lower octave, and his fists clenched. His gaze sharpened on Mardoc, and he took the opportunity that the other man's fearful admiration had purchased for him. "If you don't want to become a victim of my Beserker…," he said, voice changing from cold challenge to fierce growl, "... _take me to Violet_."

Later, KJ would barely be able to recall the trip down to the cells beneath the fortress. He had his cuffs removed, but his hands remained deceitfully bound to look genuinely constraining, yet without actually restricting his movement in the event of disaster. The halls were a blur of gray and bland faces that were irrelevant to him. His chest ached with his need to see her alive and well, and he found himself drowning in his desperation. Part of him would not believe her survival until he held her in his arms, where she would be safe…. With all of this swirling around and breaking his concentration, he didn't realize at first when or why Mardoc had paused before him, and bumped into the man's back. Curious, he peeked around, and froze.

They had arrived in the cells, but they were not alone. There were three other soldiers in the stone path leading up to Violet's prison… and they were tormenting her through the bars. KJ could see her between them: her automail arms had been taken from her, and she was forced onto her knees by a metal collar strapped to the floor by silver chains. There was absolutely no play to the chains, so that she was held fully in place, unable to even pull back away from the hands grabbing at her from the hall. They were ripping at her clothes, leaving parts of her chest and naval entirely exposed to the open air. Her blue plated skirt was in tatters. Blood spattered across her clothing, and random cuts ran in ragged patterns down her torso and legs. Her face was bruised with varying colors across her chin and cheeks. Some of the bruises were recent, and some had yellowed and became purple with age. Her left eye was swollen and black, and KJ was sure some of the orbital bones had been shattered. As he looked on in horror, one of the men exposed himself, rubbing on the bars and demanding vulgar things from her….

KJ's vision went white. In one smooth motion, he twirled around Mardoc and kicked his leg out, aiming for the skull of the nearest soldier with the full force of his jumping twist. The blow landed on the side of his head, just above the man's ear, who hadn't even seen it coming as he'd been reaching through to grip at Violet's chest. It landed, and KJ heard the most satisfying crunch as the bone gave way, and the body was dying even before it hit the floor. The next dead man turned as his friend fell, his crotch still shoved through the bars toward Violet's face, and his expression was still glossed over with desire just starting to be replaced by shock. KJ seized him by the throat and squeezed, watching his eyes bulge and the tiny conjunctival veins burst. His skin turned pale, then became red, and finally blue. KJ held his throat until he was sure that he'd watched him die, then he turned to the trembling third of the group as he released his grip to let the man fall limply to the ground. A distant part of his mind heard the man begging for his life, but he'd seen those hands he currently lifted to defend himself touch her, and he would _not_ suffer him to live. The soldier realized his begging was going no where, and so he struck upward, aiming for KJ's nose. KJ moved his head just enough for the blow to go wide, and he pulled back his fist so that it touched his right hip as he drew backward. Then, utilizing his momentum, KJ twisted his hip forward with a step toward his opponent, turning his upper body to engage his core muscles with extra force behind the blow, then slammed his fist into the man's throat. He felt the windpipe give, and he knew he'd crushed it. The soldier struggled for breath for what seemed like too short a time before collapsing into unconsciousness, then death.

KJ glared at the bodies around him a moment, wishing he could kill them all again. How many times had these wretched creatures come here to violate her…? Slowly, he turned his eyes up to look at Violet through the bars, his rage giving way to grief over her treatment. It was a shock to his stomach when tawny eyes met azure, which shined through as though lit from behind by light. His heart turned flips as he breathed her name, coming to the bars to reach through and touch her cheek with a feather-light brush of skin. Determination lit his gaze, and he narrowed his eyes to slits with his ferocious intensity. "Let's get you out of here," he said with his face pressed to the bars.

Then, he got to work on the lock of her cell door.

…...

"They _escaped?!_ ," Jefferies hissed, anger like lightening in his eyes.

"They slaughtered men from one end of the hall to the other, without taking any hits. It seems a sure thing they'll be back for Bougainvillea," the warrior before him forewarned as he headed nonchalantly toward the exit, gun cocked at the ready. "If you wish to keep him under your thumb, I'd recommend you flee to the safehouse with your pretty, precious bagage... S'up to you." He shrugged one massive shoulder and departed, leaving Jefferies to seethe in silence.

But, as he simmered in his frustration, a plan slowly formed in his mind. _This may just break that big oaf to my will…._ Jefferies thought to himself, and aggravation broke like the rolling tide a the shore, and smoothed over the sand with a gentle hiss. Perfect…. He stood, and slowly made his way to the bedchamber where Dietfried rested. He started to knock, but the door was yanked open and a very flustered, bed-ruffled Bougainvillea burst into view. Dietfried spotted Jefferies and peered back at him with round, startled eyes. Jefferies shifted his expression into the one he used to tell families that their soldiers were not coming home. Jefferies cleared his throat.

"Well, good. You're up," he said, watching carefully as Dietfried tensed as if in anticipation of being struck down. "I might as well get to the point, then…. There was an...incident last night. Your tool is broken… beyond repair this time."

Dietfried stared at him numbly. "What…? Do you mean she's… dead? Violet is _dead_?" Jefferies nodded, and Jefferies watched as the former captain's face shut down. All emotion drained from that face, which was suddenly stoic and slightly haughty, as if his expression took on the indifferent tone and one word: _And?_ A single dark eyebrow raised over his cold green eyes, as if awaiting further information.

"Alas, we must move locations immediately," Jefferies continued, his tone changing with chilled formality. "I must insist that you be sedated for this part of our journey, but it will be a different medication this time, so no hallucinations…." He raised his hand, and an awaiting guard with him moved in swiftly, needle in hand, to sedate the big man that stood frozen to the spot. After the injection, Dietfried fell to the floor, losing consciousness swiftly as the drug overtook him. The apology in Jefferies' face dropped off as Dietfried's eyes closed, leaving behind a cruel indifference. He took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind his back, and looked at the guard. "Prepare him. We depart in one hour." Then, he took his leave without looking back.

….

 _Author's Note: Many apologies to you all for the incredible delay of this chapter! I have rewritten this what feels like 100 times… I just couldn't get it to FEEL right. Quick shout out to my wonderful reviewers – your encouragement got me through that time of frustration! You are all so appreciated!_


	19. Chapter 19

KJ was sure to leave a trail of bodies to litter the halls as he walked the majority of their group out of Jefferies' fortress. In honor of Violet's wishes, he left them all alive, but they would not be able to forget the taste of his displeasure for a very, very long time – _if_ they could forget. Wrath still burned thickly on his tongue as they left the perimeter, and he turned one more glare over his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Dietfried, Benedict. Wait for me," he said with his gaze as he stared at the cold brick surrounding his friends. "When I return to get you, we'll make them pay. Dearly." Though, for the moment, he had to focus on his little girl. He felt a gentle touch from a cold, metal hand, and that one outreach warmed his heart immensely. He turned toward Violet, and they spoke volumes together in the meeting of their eyes. They both knew: they would not have to retreat for long. He nodded, and she acknowledged him with the slightest narrowing of her azure eyes. KJ gently shifted Gilbert's weight on his back, concerned by the depth of unconsciousness that Jefferies had forced upon him. He needed a thorough medical examination, but they had many miles to cover -by foot- before they could get him that attention. Steeling his resolve, KJ took more steps forward, hating with each step that he left two of his people behind him.

It was a long time before they found themselves back in familiar territory, but once they did, it was quick order before their needs were met: Gilbert received medical attention, and quickly regained consciousness once the cocktail of drugs had been siphoned from his system. KJ sent word to Claudia advising of their status, and their plans to return. It was many days still before they made their way back home, where Claudia awaited the group of escapees at the CH Postal company. His expression was drawn with excessive worry and somber with the weight of their dire situation. He heard their plight, and looked to Gilbert – the last of the rescued group. "Did you see no sign of your brother?," he asked, voice rough with concern. At the solemn shake of Gilbert's head, Claudia closed his eyes, grieved. "So he's been left there… alone?"

"No," KJ said with feigned nonchalance. "I left Benedict with him as backup." Claudia choked on air as he looked at KJ with despairing denial. "My mail man?!," he gagged out, looking alarmed. "How am I going to deliver _all these LETTERS_?!" He stared at KJ, aghast. After a moment, he seemed to collect himself, coughed once into his closed fist, then an even more somber air fell over him.

"Dietfried is the key to their plotting, I think. All the rest of you were just there to make him comply." He made a frustrated sound through his teeth, leaning over the documents on his desk to search for one particular page among the multitude of others. "I received a report from a friend still in Dietfried's circle of Naval officers: Griff." After pushing past a stack of paper that had fallen over the report, he handed it to Gilbert with dire intensity. "Gil, if you have any connections through the ongoing secret service, you needs to pull any string you can to get him out of there. These people are connected with attempts to overthrow the entire government, and that's just the tip of the iceberg."

Gilbert took the report and scanned it swiftly, his green emerald eye darting across the pages with increasing alarm. The suspects included were big fish: ones that his own unit had been seeking for years and had corrupt connections that reached all the way up to the House of Commons. "These are many of the ones I have had to play dead just to try and sniff around, Claudia!," he exclaimed, his cool demeanor cracking around the edges. "Are you seriously expecting me to believe this is one vast network of interconnected traitors to the country?" He knew by the look in Claudia's eyes that this was the most sincere truth he could muster, and that he clearly believed the validity of it. "How are we even going to _begin…_.?" Gilbert trailed off, staring at the report as if hoping the letters would shift around and morph into a different conclusion. The hopelessness of the situation suddenly fell over him, and he looked to Violet, who was staring at him from the corner of the room.

From his leaning position against the wall, KJ glanced over his shoulder at Violet as well, following Gilbert's gaze. He took in her blank expression silently, then looked back at Gilbert. "I think we'll just have to start from the place we just left behind. I'm sure they've moved camps, but maybe they've left behind men who will talk -whether by asking nicely or coercion. If not men, then surely there are tracks to follow. They can't move a camp of that size completely without leaving behind some kind of evidence." He kicked away from the wall, fire-orange eyes ablaze. "I'll check it out and see what I can discover, then report back." Gilbert looked as if he were going to object, so KJ added, "It'll be easier to avoid detection if it is just one of us, after all." They talked over details a bit longer, crafting strategy to Gilbert's (minimally acceptable level of) satisfaction. KJ insisted on that being the extent of the conversation, as he was anxious to start his mission before the trail grew cold.

With a few last exchanges, KJ turned to Violet and patted the top of her head fondly, a gentle smile covering his lips and warming his eyes. Her blue gaze stared at him, the light of surprise gentle in the hidden places of her eyes, which were only visible for those looking hard enough to be capable of observing. "Try not to worry, little flower. He's intelligent enough to play this the right way: he'll come back to us, one way or another." Some small amount of tension left the skin around her eyes, and KJ departed with the slightest bit of preparation, determination hastening his every step. Every minute traveling was wasted, and further endangered his friends. He took a deep breath of the winter-touched air, and hurried away.

…..

Dietfried knew faintly that he was in a new location, but he couldn't summon enough fortitude to care. He also dimly comprehended time as it passed, although there were few moments of clarity in between great chasms of static that swallowed all of his senses. At first, these moments were few as he awoke after being drugged once more and dragged off from whatever fortress he'd been held prisoner within previously to roost in what appeared to be a vast personal estate. As the weeks passed, the moments he was submerged in the static increased, leaving awareness in its wake less and less. All was being lost to the white noise, a pixelated buzz of sound like cloth scraping continuously together. On some level, Dietfried knew that this was a horrific state to allow himself to drown in, and an even worse time to be unaware of his surroundings, but he could not muster enough energy to fight for the surface of the ocean of depression that crushed him. _Violet was gone_. _No… he said Violet… was…_ _ **dead**_ _._ His whole world seemed to come unhinged each time that thought crossed his mind, robbing him of any hope of functionality.

What few moments stuck within his memory allowed him to realize that he -once again- was possessed of a desire to die. This was apparent in the way he intentionally riled up a rather large man, clearly a soldier and body builder by choice, whose muscles were roughly the size of boulders all up and down his arms, legs, and pectorals. He didn't remember what scathing sarcastic remark he'd made in the man's presence, but 'Rocky' - as he'd mentally nicknamed the man – took great offense to it. He'd snatched him up by the collar of his shirt and drew back a big, meaty fist to slam right into Dietfried's unprotected nose. Jefferies had interfered, but what had truly stopped the man had something to do with Dietfried himself. He'd looked straight at him, and barely below his breath cursed. "Look't those eyes, would ya? Right beastly, you are." If he would have elaborated, Dietfried would never know. Jefferies had removed the man from the estate shortly after the altercation.

They were training Dietfried for something. He faintly recalled hand-to-hand combat, self defense courses, and weaponry practice – not unlike the sort the Navy put him through. The primary difference was that there was a certain amount of effort to break Dietfried's will combined with their efforts. They wanted him to have plenty of self-doubt, self-loathing, and a healthy respect for those designated as 'authority' figures. He didn't put up a fuss; didn't actively oppose anything they decided for him. Compliance was much easier than fighting every step of the way in a foreign environment and no allies in sight. Jefferies also had him being tutored in 'the ways of a king' such as dancing and politics: the art of a layered conversation and tactical rebukes hidden within a smiling farce of a complement…. He hated it all. He hated existing. Even with the rooms teeming with people, Dietfried had never felt more alone.

The worst thing thrown at him, however, was a wounded beastie of a woman, who always dressed in scarlet. His first memories of her were associated with her seduction attempts, although that was the most tame he saw her at any given moment. He remembered being shirtless, as he had freshly completed cleaning his body when she granted herself entry into his room. He didn't remember much of their encounter until she was far too close, smelling of lavender and smiling a viper's smile. Her finger trailed down the muscled depression from his breastbone down, passing between his abs to the tops of his loose waistband britches. He'd watched her with icy dispassion, then lifted glaring eyes to hers, attempting to communicate the utter lack of welcome he had for her touch without saying or doing anything against her. She seemed to take his disinterest as a personal affront, and proceeded to throw a tantrum that left him bleeding, but blessedly alone.

She attempted to seduce him many times hence. He remembered her trapping him in a hallway to grind herself against his manhood and groan with her desire, but all he could think of was a cat in heat. She was only a hindrance to his day, and it showed. This time she expressed her resentment of his disregard with a ferocious yowl and stormed off. Other times, she came to him as if vulnerable. She would tell him of her past, her family, and tears would dust her eyelashes. Dietfried held little compassion or patience for her, and although he would listen as she told stories of the abuse she'd suffered, he would not take pity on her and comfort her. She would bare her soul, but he still kept himself as far across the room as the walls would permit, and would offer little conversation in return. Sometimes, listening satisfied her enough. Other times, she would rage at him by proclaiming that he was no better than her, that he was more of a waste of space than her family…

The worst encounter he'd had with her rage so far was one such night, when she decided he would be her personal outlet with which to conduct her release of emotion first by pacing and muttering in his rooms. He stood at the far corner, watching her with arms crossed and eyes dull, waiting. Her temper was evident in the flush of her cheeks, the stomp to her steps, and the glittering danger in her eyes. She began talking, but nothing of her chatter made sense to him; he wanted to understand not even one piece of it. She accused him then of some sort of oversight that caused havoc on her feelings, pointing her finger and glaring daggers at him. This quickly escalated to screaming, more pacing… then the flood just broke the barriers of her sanity, and she stopped, utterly still as she stared at him hotly. Then, without a word, she picked up a wine glass nearby and hurled it at him. It was so unexpected that Dietfried didn't even have time to summon the strength or desire to dodge. Thankfully, she either had poor aim, or hadn't actually been aiming at his face. The glass shattered against the wall near his head as she screamed her accusations at him, and he offered her no opposition. The glass broke, and bits of sharp ceramics scattered around him. One piece opened a jagged cut on his cheek. Others lanced his left ear, shoulder, and arm. One or two of the wounds would scar. Blood dripped down his face, and she froze as she looked into his eyes. He wasn't sure what she saw there, but he fancied the idea that his warrior's mask was held suspended over his face, indicating a ferocity he did not feel. She left, and quickly.

He'd doctored himself in his private bathroom, although he waited in the static until the blood had long since dried, and his exhaustion told him it was well into the early morning. Insomnia frequented him at night now, so these early hours spent alone were not strange for him. He looked at himself in the mirror, face blank as he took in the blood and other changes that had slowly overcome him. His hair was longer now, closer to what it was before his hospital stay. His body was leaner... harder than before. He had no appetite, and the training there was rigorous. It made sense, this transformation, but he had no desire to flaunt the soldier's body before him like he would've before by sporting a deep V neck shirt and low-hip hugging trousers. He felt as though he were looking at a stranger, as if his body were no longer his own. And… in a way, it was true. Here, he was essentially a slave – an item possessed by a cruel master. This is what the scarlet clad woman was meant to tech him… right?

The next day, Dietfried sat staring across the outer garden toward the sea, where a beautiful landscape stretched out to cover the land in sharp contrast with the evil lurking in the shadows of the estate. He realized that the abnormal had once more become the mundane for him, as abuse had become the only attention he would know. It made him think of his father, and the childhood that was spent being conditioned by an abuser. He wondered if he hadn't been through the hell his father had made for him if he would still be sane now. His present reality had so much in common with his past: authority attempting to break and conform him to another person's will while ingraining self-doubt in a demeaning manner. Except now he felt more fractured, due to the repeating loss of Violet going through his mind. He sighed, depositing the weight of grief and regret on the wind, sure that if he had any energy to do so he would have instead screamed at the top of his lungs. He closed his eyes a moment and let the static cloud his senses.

The sense of being watched startled him into alertness, and his eyes flew open to meet a set of wide, childlike eyes set in the face of a young girl with blond hair, whose resemblance was uncanny…. He blinked, but it was as if a small version of Zillipheradora Von Weber stood directly before him, alive and beautiful. There was a similar glint to those eyes that belied the sharp wit and intelligence of the Naval officer, and that gaze was pointed right at him. The static left Dietfried at that moment, and ferocity overtook his heart. The only way this child existed… was if Zilly had not met her demise on a ship many years ago…. Dietfried seized this opportunity to fill his heart with a reason to carry on, and he realized that, because of this face, he had reason to take down every single thing Jefferies held dear… and he would begin by dismantling his plot, piece by piece, until ashes alone remained. Dietfried said nothing to the child, but her eyes widened as if he had startled her, then narrowed into slits – so like Zilly – until she glared at him through pale blond lashes, wrapping her little body in bravery befitting a soldier. "And who are you, wandering my garden?," she asked, voice like a lullaby, but thorny as a rose bud. He felt a small smile spread across his lips, and energy began pouring into his body as he forced his slumping shoulders back into a proper posture. "I am Dietfried Bouganvillea, formerly of the navy. And who are you?"

She analyzed him almost haughtily before answering: "I am called Jackie. Formally, I am Jacqueline Von Weber. Now, why are you moping about _my_ garden?" They were going to get along just fine, Dietfried decided quietly. Just fine.


End file.
